Aphrodite Urania
by Miss Pontmercy
Summary: Marie Pontmercy is a thoughtful girl whose dreams take her far from her home in the Marais with her family. But as her mind grows, as does her beauty. And stars and faraway places are not apt to protect from the traps of reality, binding her to Paris.
1. Marie

**This is something of a continuation of my other story from a long time ago, "Many Years Ago." It was from before I had any grammer/knowledge of googling "french names" therefore my OC's name shares remnants of the original Les Miz book. I just wasn't creative enough back then, but if any of you remember, I had some terrible fanfiction then anyway. I would venture to say I have improved.**

**Anyway, sorry about the name, but I wanted to keep my fanfics consistent (even though I don't always...). Anyway, this will be multi-chapter! Hope you enjoy!**

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Marie Pontmercy was seated on the window seat in her bedroom, leafing through a book. However, the words did not hold her interest- she had inherited her father's dreamy tendencies, and was gazing out the window, her beautiful brown eyes full of thoughts, memories, ideas, and a touch of loneliness. She sighed and put her book down as the passerby on the street below grew tiresome.

Marie, named rather overtly for her father, had inherited almost everything about him. They looked very much alike- her hair dark and thick, her body straight and thin rather than curved like her sisters all promised to be, once curves came in. Her siblings all, to varying degrees, looked more like her mother. Marie drifted down the stairs of their house in the Marais, where she had been born and where she was happiest. She found her sister, Victoire, playing with her dolls on the floor of the living room.

"Marie, do you want to play?" she asked.

Marie sighed. Spending her afternoon with a nine-year-old sounded rather unappealing. "Did you ask Isabelle?"

"She said she doesn't want to. She's upstairs, writing in her diary and being gloomy. As _always._"

"Well, don't be too upset with her," Marie said. Her other sister, often sickly, was usually upset about something. Couple that with the fact that she was thirteen, and therefore at an awkward age, and she had permission to be unpleasant and morose. "I'll play for a few minutes, Victoire," she allowed.

Her sister's face lit up, her brilliant blue eyes and fair hair giving her the appearence of an angel child. Marie was sometimes jealous of Victoire's beauty, soft and feminine already, striking at the age of nine. But everyone told her she was beautiful in her own way, dark and mysterious looking. She still was not positive.

Marie was forced to be quiet while Victoire's doll, Catherine, slept. But her father wandered through the room, walking and reading some papers at the same time.

"Hello, father," Victoire said sweetly, her game already forgotten.

"Hello girls," he said distractedly. "Have you seen your mother?"

"She was going to the markets last time I talked to her," Marie informed him. "But I don't know if she left yet."

"I'm here," her mother's voice floated through the hallway. "And no, I haven't left yet."

The rest of Cosette entered the room then, and smiled at her daughters. She looked thankfully at Marie, obviously glad that she was being kind and playing with her sister.

Victoire tugged at Marie's sleeve and urged her back to their game, and Marie heard her parents speaking softly in the background, her father asking her mother about something.

"Marie, have you finished your studying for the day?" Cosette asked.

"Yes, mother," Marie said.

"Then if you would like, you can come to the markets with me in a few minutes."

"Oh, yes please," Marie said, carefully standing up. She wanted to get out of the house.

"Go get ready," Cosette said. "I'll be about twenty more minutes."

Marie nodded, and drifted back upstairs. She passed by the nursery, where her brother Courfeyrac was fighting with her brother Leon over something or other. She rolled her eyes, and then passed by the library, where her brother Jean was reading.

She stopped outside that door. "Hello," she said to her favorite brother. He was the oldest boy, just a year and a half younger than she. It was March, and he had just celebrated his sixteenth birthday. Marie would turn eighteen in a few months. "What are you reading?"

"Some of father's books on the republic. Remember that revolution that happened a few years ago? Well he has a book on several that happened before that, for the same cause, but I find it so interesting that nothing happened until after that revolution. Still, many people say the republic's not working quite right... and I don't know if I agree with father's viewpoints-"

"Don't bring that up at dinner," she advised, knowing how hot-headed her father could get about politics. But she had little interest- she was more interested in reading and travel, endlessly entranced by any knowledge of the rest of the world outside Paris.

Leaving her brother, she went and put her hair up, dawdling in her bedroom until she found herself on her window seat again, watching an old woman walk her dog, and another older couple walk together. She sighed- she loved the neighborhood they lived in, a place with lots of museums and beautiful architecture. Marie, a lover of art, appreciated this. Still, their streets retired early. Crowded during the day, empty at night. After a long time spent dreaming about moving to Italy, where sun bathed every inch of the land and everything seemed ancient and marble, she jumped- it had been nearly a half an hour.

She found her mother in the foyer, coat on.

"Marie," she scolded. "What is it you do up there? Honestly you are more like your father every day, and that's not complementary- your head is always somewhere else, but certainly not attached to your neck! Come, put on your coat, let's go."

She and her mother took their carriage to Les Halles. Marie, eyes wide, followed her mother around the market, where she bought some food and other goods. Whenever Cosette needed to go to the market, she always took Marie, for she knew how her daughter loved to see everyone moving about. Marie drifted over to a stand, where a merchant had several beautifully colored, silk scarves.

"Not today, Marie," her mother said pertly. "We didn't come here for scarves."

"I know," she said, a touch of obstinacy in her voice. She could at least look, couldn't she?

"I have to go get these weighed," Cosette said, referring to her basket of vegetables.

"Can I go look at those?" Marie asked, pointing to a stand with beautifully decorated journals, the leather encrusted with gold-leaf and pressed seals.

"I suppose. But please stay right there, and don't let the merchant convince you to buy anything," Cosette advised.

"I won't," Marie promised. She walked over to the stand, and started feeling the soft leather of the books. Though she liked to read, it was more for the exercises of the imagination, and to learn about other places. Marie was not very interested in writing, whether it be fictional or autobiographical. She had never even kept a diary. Still, these books were rather beautiful, and they always made her fingers itch as though she wanted to write something in them.

She felt someone's eyes on her as she was leafing through a book, watching the creamy pages flash before her. She looked up, assuming it would be the merchant, to bark at her about touching the merchandise without buying anything. But she saw a young man across the stand looking at her, one of the books in his own hands.

He smiled politely, and she smiled back, before blushing and looking down. Why was he looking at her anyway? He had no business doing that. Marie, shy and somewhat steely, stiffened at the idea of a young man paying any attention to her.

She took a few steps away, trying to distance herself, but stayed near the stand, to avoid disobeying her mother. She gazed at the construction going on about the markets, which had started up that year.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" came a voice. Marie jumped, and then turned to see the young man standing behind her.

"I think it's a shame," she said curtly. "Why not keep things the way they used to? I hate this industrial style. It's so cold."

She did not know why she even bothered to answer him, or to really speak her opinion. Her cheeks colored, and she had the sudden urge to run away, to get away from the young man, for he made her nervous.

"Do you, Mademoiselle? Well pardon me then," he said good-naturedly. He had blue eyes, and they sparkled with amusement.

She felt more heat on her cheeks.

"You don't think the production is innovative?" he remarked, continuing to talk. "It's putting us on par with other countries."

"As I said, Monsieur, it's cold. Why not model ourselves after artistically great countries, such as Italy, instead of the harsh and fast-moving America? I say it's rather ugly."

"Well why don't we see when the project is complete, Mademoiselle?" he asked. "It is hard to tell now. The project is only just underway."

"I suppose," she said, her lips tight.

"Well..." he said, rocking back on his heels. She clutched her tiny change-purse tightly, her palms sweating, discomfort obvious. He looked as though he did not want to leave, but it was clear she wanted him to. "Have a wonderful afternoon, Mademoiselle," he bid politely, with a courteous smile.

"Thank you," she said, almost rudely. "And you as well."

He bowed his head to her, and then turned and left, replacing his hat after he was away from her. Her heart-rate, which had risen in reaction to her shyness, started to calm. She did not appreciate meeting new people, especially young men. She'd heard many times from her father not to talk to strange men, for they often meant trouble.

"And if one ever follows you in the Luxembourg," he said once, looking mischeiviously at her mother, "You are to tell me _right away._ You are by no means to talk to him!"

Marie had not known what he had meant, but she understood the point- young men were dangerous. The only men she knew at all were her father and her brothers, and some of their friends, who were almost entirely still children and did not count.

"Who was that?"

Marie turned and saw her mother, her purchases in a basket in her hand.

"I have no idea," Marie said honestly. "He just came up to me and wanted to discuss the new buildings."

"Hmm," Cosette said, pursing her lips. "You're sure it was architecture he wanted to discuss?"

"Why- yes," Marie said, furrowing her brow. "Whatever else would he have meant? He asked me how I liked the new designs."

"What did you say?"

"I told him that I thought they were cold and ugly," Marie said honestly.

"Marie!" Cosette scolded. "You mustn't be so blunt."

"Well he asked, so I told him the truth. He had no business asking me anyway, so why should I be polite?"

"Come," Cosette said. "You truly are your father's daughter, darling. But let's go home."


	2. The Library

The next evening, the Pontmercys were sitting down to dinner. There were still two empty seats when the rest of the family was ready to eat, however.

"Where are the twins?" Cosette asked, referring to the middle children, Isabelle and Courfeyrac, thirteen-year-old twins.

"Probably being secretive somewhere," Leon said, sounding put out. He always wanted to play with his brothers, but Courfeyrac and his twin were always together and Jean was consumed with his studies.

"Well, can you find them and tell them to come to dinner with the rest of the family? If they don't come in five minutes they won't have any supper, and it's straight to bed- please tell them that for me," she said strictly.

After some scuffling heard upstairs, Leon, Courfeyrac, and Isabelle returned, joining the rest of the family. Marius led the family in saying grace before they dined, and then conversation began rolling.

"Maman and I sewed Catherine a new dress today," Victoire told everyone else. "She now has a dress to wear to the ball."

"That's dreadfully boring," Courfeyrac said blatantly, the sharpest tongue of all the children. He was, of all the children, the one most often involved in michief. "We don't want to hear about your dolls."

"Don't," Victoire said.

"Be nice," Marius warned.

"Tell us more, Victoire," her oldest brother said kindly.

Marie stirred her soup around with her spoon, to help it cool, and to watch the vegetables swirl in the broth.

"These are delicious," Cosette remarked, referring to the vegetables she and Marie had bought at the market the day before.

Marie agreed, but did not say anything. Sometimes her family's conversations were so slow moving and boring- what her father did at work, what others at his law firm were doing, what her mother did at home, what her siblings did, who fought with who, who was learning what, such and such and other bores.

She finished eating, ignored her mother's 'you are very quiet tonight, darling's, and excused herself. She went up to her bedroom and began to read.

* * *

"I'm off," her father said to she and her mother the next day, putting his coat on. "I'll be home in a few hours."

"Where are you going?" Marie asked.

"The library," he said. "I have to do some research for a case."

"Can I come?" she asked, sitting up straighter.

"Marie, I have to research, I can't take you about," he said.

"I know, I'll be quiet. I'll just go to the room with the maps, like always. You'll find me there."

"Alright," he said. "But we're going to be there awhile. If you get bored, you'll just have to be bored- I can't take you home until I finish working."

"I won't be bored," she said, knowing herself.

When she and her father arrived at the library, he escorted her into the studying room, her favorite, which had globes and maps all over.

"I'll be here," she promised.

"Alright. I'll stop by soon- once I get my books I'll come in here with you," he said. He looked nervous at the prospect of leaving her alone, even though it was just in one room in the library. He looked about, and saw there were only a few other people, all wrapped up in their reading. Marie had been to the library with Marius many times before.

"I'll see you soon, father," she bid, and then drifted over to the glass covered maps. She did not know what she liked better- the fact that someone had drawn up pictures of the whole world, or knowledge that the world was so much bigger than just Paris. She spun a globe, watching the colors of the countries, water, and gold-leafed words labelling the places flash before her. It was beautiful, the sheer art of the maps and globes. But Marie's eyes drifted to the Mediterranean. She had never even been to the South of France.

Marie's mother told her about trips she had taken with her father when they were first married, but they seldom travelled anymore. Taking a trip with all the children was difficult, and her mother refused to go on a trip with only her husband, leaving the children alone, or with just one of her children. She wanted to be fair, though Marie pouted. None of the other children _wanted_to go anywhere. But alas, her mother would take a trip with all six children or no trip at all, and it seemed that there would be no trip at all. They had the money to do so, but her father would rather spend it on their education and keeping money saved for the children to have when they grew up. But Monsieur and Madame Pontmercy had been to Italy, where Marie most wanted to go, along with Spain, Belgium, and Sweden. Just their stories about the beautiful buildings and landscapes were enough to make Marie long for those places even more.

Marie sat in a chair, with an atlas in her lap, opening it and gazing at the different countries. She grew dreamy again, and her eyes drifted up and out the window, at the clear blue winter sky. The light had only just started to change and become the light of spring. Movement caught Marie's eye, and she gazed at some of the other library patrons looking through books on the other side of the room.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she recognized someone. The young man from two days ago in Les Halles was browsing through international literature only a few feet away, some books under his arm. He did not see her, that is, not yet. Not wanting to attract his notice, she slowly got up from her chair and went behind another shelf of books parallel to the shelf he was browsing, invisible to him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she started to wonder when her father would be back. Surely a young man would not come talk to her in front of her father!

Marie spent a few minutes tracing her finger over the old, cracked leather of the spines, smelling the scent of the glue and paper. She picked up a large book, its pages yellowed and old, before her little aisle was invaded.

She turned and saw that the young man had entered her aisle, continuing to browse. He was not looking at her, focused on the titles of the books.

She blushed, putting her large book back on the shelf. Should she just leave, continuously trying to avoid him? Or should she just ignore him?

Her choice was made for her when he looked up, and smiled politely, before going back to his browsing.

She sighed with relief. He did not recognize her, or if he did, it was unimportant. She took the book off the shelf again, and rifled through the pages, trying to concentrate on her reading.

But she couldn't. Marie's thoughts stayed on the young man about three meters away, looking at books.

Shyly, she lifted her eyes from the book just barely, keeping them almost covered by her lashes, and tried to sneak a look at him. She found him doing the same thing. Book in hand, sneaking a look at her. Immediately, she looked back down, cheeks brilliant. He put his book back on the shelf, and she sensed him moving beside her, inching closer, looking at the titles of the books, moving ever closer. she took a step to her right, away from him.

But he continued to browse, until she had to step to the right again to get away from him. This happened twice more before Marie gave up.

"Monsieur, do you need help finding a book? I come here a lot, I can help you," she said. Anything to get him to leave her alone!

Expecting him to say 'no, thank you,' she was surprised when he took her up on the offer.

"Why- yes. I'm looking for books on Italy, Mademoiselle. This is most kind of you," he said.

"Well, this is the wrong area, Monsieur- this is the section for books about Spain."

Was he daft? There was a sign above them that said 'Spanish Literate,' and every book was either in Spanish, or written by someone with a blatantly Spanish name, or had a Spanish city in its title. Honestly!

"The books on Italy are right here," she said, leading him out of the aisle, and back into the one where she was originally spotted him. How had he missed them the first time around?

"Do you read on Italy often, Mademoiselle?" he inquired. "I would expect so, if you admire their architecture so, and know exactly where the Italian section of library is."

She blushed again. He _did_ recognize her. "I do sometimes," she said shortly. "I find the Italian style so fascinating."

"Do you prefer the Renaissance era, or another time?"

"I think it's the Renaissance era that made them who they are, in the eyes of art," she said carefully. "So of course I admire that era, but I prefer the classical time period. It was much less overdone, in my opinion."

"I agree," he said, his eyes wide and kind. She saw he was a few inches taller than she, with curly, light-brown hair and brilliantly blue, large eyes. They projected an innocence and a kindness, whereas hers projected mystery and intelligence. "Have you ever been to Rome, Mademoiselle?"

"No, I cannot say I have," she said, disappointment evident. "My mother and father have, though. They tell me that it is just as wonderful as all the books say. Have you travelled there?"

"I have not had the good fortune," he said. She blushed again, realizing that it was very evident- his clothes, while not those of an extremely poor person, were not those of someone who could afford to travel for luxury. "However, I rather enjoy reading about Italy. Venice is especially interesting."

"Oh! With the boats and the glass!" she said excitedly. "I know, it sounds so breathtakingly beautiful!"

Growing nervous again at how passionately she had answered him, Marie found herself wanting to find en excuse to get away.

"Excuse me, Monsieur. I promised to meet my father, by the law books," she said, a small lie.

"Oh, of course," he said, looking disappointed. "Have a good afternoon, Mademoiselle."

She smiled politely, and then turned and left the room, leaving to find her father. If she had looked, she would have seen the young man, significantly behind her, watching her without the slightest interest in the Italian books he'd asked after.

* * *

A few hours later, after dinner, Marie was in the living room doing some needlework when her brother, Jean, walked into the room. He looked happy to see her, but quickly put his finger to his lips.

"You mustn't make any noise."

"Pardon? Jean, don't be ridiculous-"

"I am going out, Marie," he said in a whisper. "Don't tell Father or Maman, but if they know I'm gone, tell them I'm at my friend Charles' house, and that we're studying. Tell them I told Maman that a week ago, and that she must have forgotten."

"I'm not going to lie!" Marie said.

"_Please, _Marie," he begged.

"Where are you going?"

"Don't you worry about that," he said. "Please, just keep this a secret. I asked you because I trust you, and I know Father will believe you."

"You must not be doing something dangerous, though," she said warningly.

"I'm not, I'm fine, I promise. But I want to go out with some friends and I know they won't let me."

"Are you going to meet a woman?" Marie asked, somewhat astonished. It was somewhat out of character for Jean to be out with a girl- he was much more of a studious person. Indeed, her parents were already worried about her brother Courfeyrac going wayward, and he was only thirteen.

"No, no, nothing like that," he said, and she believed him. "I'm just going to a discussion, alright? I'll be home in a few hours. I'll see you at breakfast."

"Alright," she said, bored. She did not want to lie for him, but if she went to bed right after he left, then she would not be _lying, _she would just not be telling her parents her brother left. So after Jean let himself out of the house, Marie packed up her needlework, blew out her candles, and went up her bedroom. The rest of the house was already dark and quiet.

Before she went to sleep, Marie's thoughts drifted to the young man in the Spanish literature section. It only struck her now that someone who seemed to be well read on Italian history would _not _be daft enough to miss that he was in the wrong section of the library. He had most likely known the whole time.

A thrill of fear went through her at the prospect. He had made up an excuse to speak to her, for the second time. Marie had no idea how to process that. But at least he had been well read.

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	3. The Library Again

**Reviews!**

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"Father, can we go to the library?" Marie found herself asking the next day at four- precisely the same time they'd gone the day before. He sighed, put down his book, and took off his reading glasses, which he'd acquired in the past year.

"Marie, it's Saturday, and the first day all week I haven't had any work to do."

"Please?" she asked, her brown eyes wide. She couldn't say exactly why she wanted to go, just knew that the idea sounded pleasant.

"Marie, your father is tired," her mother said from the other side of the room. "He does not have to take you. After all, you went yesterday."

She sighed and looked down, disappointed.

"No, Cosette, it's fine," her father said, and stood. "I'll return the books I borrowed yesterday. But I don't want to stay very long, Marie," he said warningly. Marie, after beaming and kissing her father's cheek, ran and got ready to go.

* * *

"I'll go return these," her father said, referring to the books in his arms, after escorting her to the room on foreign countries. "Please stay nearby."

"I will," she promised, her eyes drifting about the room. If she knew anything about her father, she knew he was incapable of accomplishing anything in a short amount of time. He was a learned, intelligent man, but his thoughts always seemed far more interesting, to him, than the world around him. Marie was the same way, and she found it rather funny that he and her mother, who was very practical and quick thinking, were so well-matched.

Marie, humming to herself very quietly, began to take books off the shelves. Today she found herself interested in reading books about the Orient- though Italy was her favorite place, she'd read almost everything there was to read about it (that her father would let her at in this library, anyway). And next to Italy, the books about China had the most beautiful, colorful pictures.

"Oof," she said lightly, plucking a large books from the shelf and adding it to the growing pile in her arms. She hunched over a little with the weight, but continued to browse.

"Would you like some help, Mademoiselle?"

She turned. It was him.

Marie blushed.

"You come here a lot, Monsieur," she whispered.

"As do you. But would you like some help?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you seem to be struggling," he said. She blushed again- it was obvious she was struggling.

"Yes please- that's very thoughtful of you." She handed the top few books to him, and he took them to a nearby table with her, setting them down one by one.

"You are a very learned young woman," he remarked, after reading the titles.

Marie looked at him with strength. "And?"

"Does your father know you read about such faraway places, with such fervor?"

"My father knows lots of things," Marie said truthfully. "And he knows me. Is it so wrong that I want to learn about somewhere other than where I live? And is it wrong for my father to support that?"

"No," he said, taken aback by how defensive she was. "Not at all, Mademoiselle. However, it is unusual, and pardon me for saying so."

"I simply enjoy learning, Monsieur, and I see nothing wrong with that."

"I can see," he said, looking at her strangely. "May I sit down?"

"Oh," she said, but found herself giving in. "You may. What brings you here today?"

"Just... learning," he said.

"About?"

"More with each passing moment," he said, again with a strange look at her. She did not know how to place it.

"But honestly," she said hurriedly. "What do you like to read?"

"Law books," he said. "And plays."

"Are you a lawyer?" she said, brightening.

"Yes," he confessed. "However, I am pressed for cases at the moment."

"Why?"

"Political views."

"Those often get in the way," Marie said. "I mean, people fight about politics, but those are just general values. No reason to hurt others. I don't understand why people continuously fight, trying to make others believe what they believe. People have been doing it for hundreds of years and it has never worked."

"You have a point, Mademoiselle. But like you said, it's been going on for hundreds of years and I don't know if it will change."

"My father is a lawyer," Marie said, perking up. It was obvious to the young man that she enjoyed talking about her father, and was fond of him.

"Is he?" this young man asked, looking interested. Actually, he looked interested before, too, when she was ranting about politics.

"Yes," she said shortly, cutting off that conversation effectively.

She sat silently for a moment, before feeling awkward and reaching for one of her books. However, she did not want to stop talking to this young man, though she couldn't say way. Nothing they'd talked about so far had been all that stimulating. She'd had better conversations with her brothers and sisters on their worst days. But for some reason she was not ready to find her father yet.

"What's your name, Monsieur?" she asked, wondering if that was too bold. But then she blushed at her own tact- of course it was not too bold! If anything, it was late in coming. It was somewhat rude not to know someone's name, wasn't it? And after all, she shouldn't worry about being too bold, because there was nothing to be bold about. The extent of their relationship was their three short conversations- hardly anything to worry over. And what did it matter if she was impolite, anyway? She would probably never see this young man again after today! What were the odds that they would see each other so many times in a row anyway?

She felt a twinge of sadness, mixed with relief. Talking to him made her nervous, but she wanted to keep doing it.

"My name is Jaques Fabre," he said. "I apologize for not telling you earlier. And yours?"

"Marie," she said simply.

"Marie," he mouthed to himself. _Why did he do that?_ she wondered. "Well, Mademoiselle Marie, I should confess something. I have seen you here very often before."

"Have you?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "I haven't seen you. But I do come here often."

"Yes, I see you here a few times every week. I used to come to do work here, and I noticed you."

She looked down at the book again, as warmth flooded her cheeks again.

"I'm not surprised you didn't see me," he said softly. "I mean, it's obvious why I would notice _you, _but..."

"Why would you notice me?" she asked, confused.

It was his turn to go red. "Well... Mademoiselle. If it's not too improper to say, you are very lovely. And not only in face, but in manner."

"Monsieur, thank you... but it's not true at all. I'm shy, and even rude at times! I didn't notice it until this year, but I've become a bit more self-aware recently, and I know I can be very reserved sometimes... I take after my father, you see... And I can't say I'm lovely in manner."

"Well maybe you aren't as self-aware as you think."

She blushed again, but accepted his complement this time. "Thank you."

"Mademoiselle, pardon me, I'm still talking- I talk a lot, you see, I know it's not the best quality, but it's true after all. I see you here with your father, and at first I just saw you when I came to study, but then I started coming here to study, thinking I would see you. And then it turned to coming to study, just for the purpose of seeing you. Until I saw you the other day at Les Halles and- oh, you must think I am absolutely crazy. You didn't notice me at all, but I've noticed you for months- I assure you, Mademoiselle, I mean absolutely no harm in this, but there's something about you I just can't overcome and I would give anything to know you better."

After he finished, a somewhat horrified look appeared on his face, surprised he had said all that at once.

Marie's heart hammered, and she was terrified. This was just too much. She had never spoken to a young man before, but suddenly it seemed like one was _very _interested in her. And her father always said to steer clear of young men exactly like this Monsieur Jacques, but to tell the truth he did not seem dangerous at all. Still, Marie was nervous and terrified and not very happy with this confession.

"I'm not only not very self-aware, it seems," Marie finally said. "But I'm not very aware of my surroundings, either."

"With eyes set on such distant horizons," he said, "How can you notice what is in front of you?"

"Well," she began, but started, seeing her father enter the room. He did not notice her yet though. "Oh- get up, please Monsieur! My father is coming."

She had no reason to fear her father, nor suspect her of anything ill, but with the instinct of a woman, and not of a girl, she knew that this conversation was one she should not tell her father about.

Jacques rose instantly, and picked up some of her books.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Marie," her father said, coming over to the table. As soon as her father was close, Jacques put all of her books back down for her.

"There you go, Mademoiselle," Jacques said. "Enjoy your books. Good afternoon, Monsieur, Mademoiselle." He nodded to them both, and then left.

"He was helping me carry my books," she told her father.

"I see that," he said, but his eyes were narrowed. "Come. Let's go home."

* * *

"Maman?" Marie asked that evening, on the chaise lounge in her mother's boudoir.

"Yes, darling?" Cosette said, as she brushed her hair. Marie had probably spent days of her life in this room. She always adored admiring her mother, who she found to be so sweetly beautiful, unlike herself. Cosette was the essence of what a beautiful woman should look like, whereas Marie was much harsher looking. Striking, but never soft. Watching her mother comb her long, wavy hair, or get ready for the parties she and her father went to, put on her jewelery, fold her beautiful clothes with care... it had been endlessly entrancing when Marie was a girl. She was now permitted to go to several of those parties, and had been since she was seventeen. But they grew boring after just a few.

Still, it was comforting to watch her mother taking out her earrings, and sit in her comfortable dressing gown, becoming a normal, pretty woman for the night, instead of the dressed-up gorgeous woman of the day.

"What did father say when he talked to you for the first time?"

Cosette laughed, and turned on the stool by the vanity to look at Marie.

"He was quite a laugh, actually," Cosette said. "He talked on and on. I had no idea what was happening to me."

"Did you love him then?" Marie asked.

"I loved him before then," Cosette said. "There was just a moment when I knew. I didn't know what it was then- I was very sheltered, dear. It was just my father and I. I did not even have a sister to talk to, so this was a huge change for me. But I knew before your father and I ever spoke."

"Well that's just illogical," Marie said.

Cosette shrugged. "It is what it is," she said by way of explanation. "I don't know how it happens, but it does."

_Well I suppose nothing like that is happening to me then,_ Marie reasoned, feeling relieved. _Because I've talked to him several times now, and certainly don't 'know' anything._

"Why do you ask, darling?" Cosette asked.

"No reason," Marie said, standing up and stretching.

"Are you sure?" her mother said, a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes!" she said. "I'm going to go to sleep now."

"Marie," her mother called before she left the room. "Just know that, though you think we'll be angry with you if you feel something for a boy... your father and I won't. But if you don't obey the rules of the house- which you are well aware of- we _will_ be angry."

"I don't even know what you could be referring to," Marie said dreamily. "What rules do you think I will break?"

"None yet," Cosette said, shaking her head. "But you would be surprised. It happens rather fast."

Marie just looked more confused, and Cosette felt relieved. Unlike Marius, who believed everything Marie told him, Cosette knew how a daughter could inadvertently lie to her parents. However, there were some expressions a young girl just could not fake, and that was one of them. Cosette, apt at hiding her love at a young age, would have been able to spot it if Marie had been lying.

"Goodnight, darling," she said, and kissed her daughter's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Maman."

* * *

When Cosette got into bed that night, Marius was up reading.

"Darling?" she asked, and waited until he put down his book. "Was there anyone at the library earlier?"

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"With Marie. Was she with anyone, at the library?"

Marius thought. He had been suspicious about the young man helping her with her books, but...

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, she asked me some questions about _love_ tonight," Cosette said, looking at him meaningfully. "And I think she's starting to think about young men."

Marius, who did not want to think of his daughter with any young man, decided to opt for the comfort of himself and his wife rather than the truth. "There was no one of importance. I would not worry."

Cosette looked appeased for a moment, but did not drop the subject. "She is almost eighteen, Marius. We should be thinking about-"

"Not yet," he said quickly, and picked his book up again.

"Marius, don't be silly- you know it's going to come up soon. As I said, she's almost eighteen. She's a young woman, not a child. And it can be a young man from a family we trust. There's plenty of our friends whose sons are now adults- I'm just saying we should consider-"

"I said not yet, Cosette," he said, and sounded pained.

"Alright. We won't talk about it tonight. This is going to be hard for both of us," she said, and kissed her husband. But she knew it would be much harder for him. It was easier for a mother to be happy that her daughter a beautiful, and that she was looking for love. Cosette was happy that Marie was getting attention from young men, as long as those young men were respectful and nothing ill happened. All it meant was that Marie had more opportunities for happiness in her future, more prosperity. But for her father, it was different. Marius was fiercely protective of everyone in their family, especially Marie. They were so very close that Cosette wondered if he could stand to lose her at all.

* * *

Marie was not ready for bed yet. Once she retired to her room, she opened her books from the library. Gazing at the beautiful, colored maps with gold veins for rivers, she was once again soothed into a kind of comfortable awe.

Turning the page from China to Japan, Marie found a surprise.

A sheet of paper fell from the pages of the book.

* * *

**Please, Please, PLEASE review this. And again, sorry for his last name. :)**


	4. Jaques Fabre

Marie gave her brother Jean a wary eye at the breakfast table, when he yawned.

"What are you staring at?" he snapped, which was uncharacteristic of him.

"Nothing," Marie said defensively. Her brother had seemed very tired lately. Marie herself knew something was going on; she had spent many nights laying awake thinking, and had heard footsteps in the hallway where she and her siblings slept more than once.

"Excuse me," she said to her brother. They were both up late. Since her other siblings were younger, they often rose early. Marie yawned and returned to her bedroom to change and get ready for the day. She had just shut her door, though, when she saw her sister in her room.

"Victoire!" Marie scolded. "What are you doing in here? You're not supposed to be in here unless I say so!"

Marie, the eldest, had always had to share her things with her sisters, and never really had alone time; her privacy, rare as it was, was very precious to her.

"Marie is in _love,_" Victoire chanted.

"Hush!" Marie snapped, and ran over to her sister. "Lower your voice!"

Marie knew instantly she had said the wrong thing; Victoire had not been sure before. Marie had just confirmed her sister's opinions. Victoire's beautiful blue eyes grew wide.

"You're not allowed to meet boys!" she said, horrified. "Papa said!"

"That's just a guideline, because he's ridiculously protective of us," Marie said without patience. "Honestly, I don't know what he thinks is going to happen to us."

Victoire's eyes widened even more. "Papa loves us," she said, sounding almost frightened. It made sense; she'd never heard her older sister say anything against their father, not once. Any time there was a fight in their family, Marie always sided with her father. Victoire thought there must be something wrong, in order for Marie to change her views this way.

Quickly, Marie finished her defense. "Anyway, who said I was meeting anyone? I'm not."

"You have a love letter," Victoire protested, brandishing her find from her sister's jewelry box. "It was sitting out, I wasn't snooping-"

"You are a liar," Marie said. "It was most certainly not sitting out. You were snooping through my necklaces and trying them on, like always."

"It's because you have such pretty things and I don't!"

"You will!" Marie said, rolling her eyes. "You have no reason to wear them yet. You're just a girl."

Victoire scowled. As a young girl who desperately wanted to be like her oldest sister, this was the deepest insult. She turned to leave, but Marie called out for her to stop.

"Did you read my whole letter?"

Victoire did not say anything. She knew better than to give up her information just yet- not when Marie looked so desperate. Or when Marie had such pretty jewelry.

"Please, Victoire. Promise you won't say anything to anyone. _Especially_ not Maman or Papa."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Because... oh... because I asked you to?" Marie asked, and knew at once this would not work. "Fine! I'll let you use my perfumes and you can pick one of my necklaces to wear."

"That's no good. You know Maman will know if I wear perfume and scold me."

"Fine. Two necklaces."

"Three. _And_ your pearls."

"My pearls?" Marie said, aghast. "No!"

"I can easily let it slip at dinner that this... Monsieur _Jacques _thinks you have eyes of "sharp onyx" or something-"

"Hush!" Marie said, springing forward and putting her hand over her sister's mouth. "You can _borrow_ them, how does that sound?"

"It will do," Victoire said. "My lips are sealed."

* * *

Marie had read the letter one week ago, and had not been to the library since. After reading passionate, poetic words by this Jacques Fabre, she was thrown into the deepest of uncertainties. Marie was frightened by what he'd said. She constantly remembered her father warning she and her sisters against the wooing of students.

"They've just learned how to use words," Marius had said. "They'll want to see how well they can twist them. Don't listen- you never know what they'll want from you."

Her mother had been less strict; she just told the girls to let her know if a man ever paid them attention. As long as nothing went too far, the girls were most likely safe. But Marie had disobeyed them both- her letter had stayed in her room, unmentioned to either of her parents. And, against her father's words, Jacques' words had deeply affected her.

She knew she would find him at the library, but she did not go. For seven days, she stayed away in fright. Though the thought of someone paying her attention thrilled her, she stepped away from it in a kind of frightened awe. And what was wrong with him, anyway, to make _her _come to _him?_ It was highly improper. If he was a real man, he'd come and speak to her father.

Or else, that's what her father always said a man should do. That always made her mother laugh, for whatever reason.

But seven days after reading the letter, curiosity overcame her, and she could no longer stay away. _If it turns sour,_ Marie thought, _I'll just tell Papa. And anyway, the library is _my _place. I have as much a right to be there as he does. I can tell him I just came for the books._

"Papa?" Marie asked a few minutes later. "Can I go to the library this afternoon?"

Her father put down his book and took his glasses off, looking at her steadily. She suddenly grew nervous. She'd asked her father, not her mother, because he was the one she always went to the library with and she wanted the request to seem as normal as possible. Besides, though her father was very protective of their family, she knew him to be very oblivious, and the likeliness of him guessing her request had to do with any kind of female, romantic ambition was minimal.

But the way he was looking at her told her one thing: her mother had warned him that she was suspicious. Marie cursed herself for speaking to her mother a week ago.

"I suppose... let me go ask your mother if she needs anything," he said, and left.

Marius walked into the nursery, where Cosette was tutoring Victoire on her reading.

"Darling, could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Yes," Cosette said. "Keep reading, Vicki."

His wife stood up and walked over to him. He lowered his voice. "Marie is asking me to go to the _library_," he said meaningfully. "You don't think...?"

Cosette looked thoughtful. "I say take her. It's been a week since she's last asked, which is normal for her. I would think if she wanted to see him, she'd have asked every day this week. Unless..."

"Unless?" Marius asked, fearful.

"Unless she's unsure. Or trying to play with him."

"Marie wouldn't tease someone," Marius said, mostly because he wanted to believe there wasn't anyone in Marie's life.

"Have you seen those eyes she has?" Cosette said. "She could tease someone with a simple glance. I don't know that she knows enough to know how, though... But really, I think it's fine. Anyway- what could happen in a library?"

"True," Marius said. Neither of them noticed Victoire's eyes on them, wide as coins. "I'll just stay close."

"Not too close," Cosette said. "Or she'll try to shake you off."

Marius grew even more frightened. "Why would she want to do that?"

"She's seventeen," Cosette said, by way of answer. "Have a good time!"

Marius looked like a 'good time' was the last thing he was about to have.

"Oh, get that worried look off your face!" Cosette said with a laugh. "What's the worst that could happen? What kind of roguish young man is she going to meet at a library? At least he's learned. What's wrong with her falling in love?"

"Those students are not to be trusted," Marius said fearfully. "Just because they are educated does not mean they can be trusted with young women-"

"I know," Cosette said. "I married one. They're awful."

"You got lucky. My friends... if Marie dated anyone like them...!"

"Calm down!" Cosette said. "Just take her. It will be fine."

Their attention was diverted when they saw Victoire staring at them. Without a word, she exited the room, staring at them all the way out.

"What's the matter with her?" Marius asked.

"I have no idea," Cosette said. "Vicki!" she called. "You're not done with your studies yet!"

* * *

Marie very calmly entered the library with her father, going into the map room as usual. She very wisely invited her father to sit with her, which did sate his curiosity.

Marius searched the room with his eyes, and saw no one remotely close to Marie's age- either a great comfort, or an even greater threat. But he saw her calm demeanor, and watched as she pulled several books off the shelf.

"I'll be back in ten minutes," he said, taking Cosette's advice and giving Marie some space. "I have to go to the law books. You know where to find me."

"Yes, papa," she said with a smile, and went back to reading.

As soon as her father left, Marie looked up and gazed about the library. Where could he be? Maybe he wasn't here.

But then Marie's eyes fell on the aisle for the books onItaly, and she smiled. Standing up, Marie went behind the shelf, to the part not visible to where she and her father had been before.

There he was.

Jacques stared at her for a moment in complete shock. Marie instantly grew shy, and looked at the floor.

"I did not think you would come," he said, his voice hushed. "I have come here all day for a week. I've been doing all my work here. And you never showed your face. But here you are."

"Not for long," Marie said. "My father will be back in a few minutes."

"I understand," he said, putting his book haphazardly on the shelf. "You read my letter?"

"Yes," she said, and couldn't help but smile. "You... er... you write very well."

"Thank you," he said, and himself grew shy. "You provide very wonderful inspiration. But tell me, Marie. Tell me about you. I don't know a thing, other than your beautiful face and your sharp mind, and that first name. Do you know how many 'Marie's there are inParis?"

"I could not say," she said, feeling herself open up.

"Too many!" he exclaimed. "Far, far too many."

"Pontmercy," she said. "Marie Pontmercy."

He furrowed his brow for a moment, and then cleared it. "Is your father the lawyer? Monsieur Marius Pontmercy?"

"Yes," she said proudly.

"He's very successful," he pointed out.

"He's very clever," Marie corrected. She was proud of him- she knew both he and her mother had inherited fortunes from their families, but her father had matched them both with his law firm. He'd grown discontented with law for a long time, but overcome it and built a firm for the downtrodden and eventually expanded, and it became one of the most successful lawyers inParis. He and his family owned one of the largest charity organizations inParisas well, which provided shelter for battered women.

"He is," Jacques said. "And known for his controversial opinions."

"Well, we can't all be mainstream, can we?"

"No, we certainly cannot," he said. Much to Marie's surprise, he lifted one of his fingers and touched her cheek very briefly. She stepped back.

"I came here to tell you something, though," Marie said nervously. He stared at her, listening. "I... I can't just _love_ you, the way you so obviously _believe_ you love me."

"I do-"

"No, you don't. You couldn't. You don't even know me,'" Marie interrupted. "But please let me finish. I have my family, I have my father, and I do not know you, Monsieur. My father has plans for me, I have plans for me. I cannot just disobey my family and go off with someone I barely know, however..." her breath caught for a minute, noticing how he continued to stare at her. "However... charming he can act in a library. Or how well he can write."

"Your father has trained you well," he said simply. "But I'm not giving up just yet."

Marie looked indignant for a moment.

"Listen," he said, and boldly took her hand. "I would not ask you to be with me until I was sure you loved me. Right now I'm only asking to get to know you. I want someone who chooses to be with me because she loves me, because she cannot be without me. You have to learn that; I understand. I'll be here at this library every day to meet with you. You'll learn to know me. And maybe you'll learn to love me."

Marie took her hand away, shocked. She glared at him, insulted at the rashness of his words. She was a very important young women, with a very influential family and a father who would positively _destroy_ this young man if he wronged her in the slightest way. And he had the nerve to speak with her that way!

"Here," he said, and handed a pile of books to her as he eyed the rest of the room through a break in the lineup on the bookshelf.

Marie gave him a strange look, taking the books.

"Monsieur Pontmercy the Very Clever Lawyer is back."

Marie glared at him. The minute he insulted her father, she found herself writing this young man off.

"I came here to check out my own books, _Monsieur,_" she said bitingly. "Just because you happened to invade _my_ section of the library does not mean I suddenly have to love you. Or that I came to the library to speak with you- how vain you are!"

With that, Marie whipped around, and promised herself she would never, never love this Jacques Fabre, however beautiful his words were.

* * *

**Sorry I have not updated this. I have a plan for this story now! A good one! Lemme know what you think!**


	5. Goodbye!

"I knew you would come back," Jacques said, his eyes twinkling.

Marie straightened up, her back ramrod straight. "I did not come for you. If you could recall something other than your own pride, I come to the library at least once a week."

"Ouch," he said, clutching his heart. "A direct hit."

She glared at him.

"You wound me, Mademoiselle."

"You tire me," she said coldly and swiftly brushed past him.

She did not get far. He leaned against the side of the bookshelf she was examining.

"I thought knowing your last name would help me, Mademoiselle Pontmercy. It has not! Each time I look up your father and try to find your address, all I ever find is the address to his law firm. How is a young man supposed to profess his love if he has not the address of his affections?"

"I do not appreciate your quip," she said shortly, without looking at him.

"No quip," he said, throwing up his hands. "Truth."

"Fine," she said, not believing him. "But just so you know, no matter how you try, you won't find our address published anywhere. You mentioned my father has very controversial opinions; it's true. He knows this too, and he knows how many men would love to see him harmed. You will find neither my mother's nor any of the Pontmercy children's names to come up anywhere in writing, nor our address to be published. He has an order bought for it with the press."

"Does he?" Jacques said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. And if I have any judge of your character, I know you will look anyway to try and prove me wrong. But you will not. My father is very concerned with my and my family's safety. That's also why you would do to be polite to me, or I will very well tell him a most unpleasant student is harassing me in the library."

"Well it seems I do not even need to try to prove you wrong, Mademoiselle. I will take your word for it, and stop my search. Indeed, I will stop my entire courtship of you if you wish me to."

"Oh," Marie said, stepping back. "Well. Yes. Stop then, please."

"So it seems I must," he said, bowing to her, a sad look in his eye. "It has been a pleasure, Mademoiselle Pontmercy."

"Yes. Right," she said, confused.

He nodded once more, and left.

* * *

Marie mooned about for a few days, sulking and yet triumphant. She had dismissed the boy- that showed him!

But the adventure had seemed exciting. And, goodness, his letter had been beautiful.

On the Wednesday following her last visit to the library, she was delivered a note.

_Mademoiselle Marie Pontmercy chez Monsieur Marius Pontmercy  
No. 6, Rue des Filles du Calvaire_

_Dear Marie,_

_How are you? I have missed you so! I wish I could have seen more of you in the past month, but married life is busy. I finally have some time for friends, though. Will you come for tea at my new home on Friday at 3, just the two of us? I've enclosed the address. _

_Your dear friend,_

_Louise_

Marie was compeltely distracted from her troubles with Jacques. Louise Arnet, her best friend, was about two years older than her and had just been married. She and Louise used to spend almost all their time together, but Marie had not seen her since her wedding a month ago. Taking the note with her, Marie went to find her mother teaching Victoire in the nursery.

"Maman!" she said happily. "Louise wrote me. She wants to know if I can come for tea on Friday."

"That sounds lovely," Cosette said. "You can go."

On Friday, Marius took a carriage with Marie and dropped her off at Louise's new home, as her husband's servants took her coat and hung it up.

"I'll be back in two hours," he said.

Marie was escorted into the living room, where she saw Louise sitting primly on the couch.

"Marie!" she exclaimed, getting up and embracing her friend. "I have missed you so much!"

"Oh, I have missed you too, my friend," Marie said.

"Come with me," Louise said. "We can't talk properly here," she whispered. Gripping Marie's hand, she tugged her up the stairs of the grand house, past ornate bedrooms and thick carpets, and into her boudoir.

Marie was wondering what was with the secrecy, until Louise turned around, in tears.

"Louise!" Marie said, shocked. She put her arms back around her friend. "What's the matter?"

"I hate it here," she sobbed. "I hate this life! I miss my mother and my father and my brother, and I miss you and I miss being with my friends and being a girl, not a wife..."

"Oh, Louise dear," Marie said, and eased her friend into a seat. "I am sure you just are not used to it yet. You'll be fine soon."

"No, Marie, you don't understand," she said, wiping her tears, her shoulders shaking. "Gilles is _horrible._ I cannot stand the sight of him. He is awful to me. He scarcely pays me any attention at all, and all I have to do is manage the household and deal with the visitors. My mother and father come by occasionally, but overall I am so lonely. He does not talk to me about anything at all. It's as if as soon as he married me, he does not need to even try to make me happy anymore. When we were engaged, he was always doting on me. Now it's as if I'm not even here."

"Louise," Marie said, not knowing what else to say.

Her friend just continued to sob. "I missed you so much. I wanted to write you and tell you about this, but I couldn't put it in a letter, you understand. But there's no one to talk to! No one cares about what I say, what I think, how I feel. There's nothing to do... Marie, when you get married, make sure you can talk to him. Gilles and I have nothing to talk about."

Marie gave her friend a pitying look. "Poor dear. Louise, I feel for you. I do. But what can I do to help?"

"Just keep visiting me," Louise said, begging.

Marie bit her lip. "What about the rest of your marriage? Does he take you places?"

"Seldom," Louise said. "He is more commonly going to discussions and lectures and things that I am not allowed to go to."

"And... er... what about the rest?" Marie said with a pitying look.

"Oh, that's just _horrid,"_ Louise said. "My mother didn't tell me anything, and then he just... oh! It's awful, I can't even talk about it. How much do you know?"

"Not much," Marie confessed. "But more than most girls like us. I've heard my parents before. Their bedroom is next to mine... I try not to think about it. But I also hear them worrying over my brothers; they worry they will become immoral."

"My brother is so much younger, I missed all of that," Louise said. "But I think you know much more than I did. I had no idea."

"Don't tell me," Marie said, covering her ears. "I don't want to know."

"That's right, you don't," Louise said, dissolving once more into tears. "I just want to get out of this situation. It's horrible... Marie, I am so unhappy."

* * *

"It's horrible," Marie said to her mother later that night. "She is miserable. Isn't there something to do?"

"Not really," Cosette said. "But Emmalie and I have talked about this Gilles. He is a good man, he is probably just as uncomfortable as she is. Maybe he just does not know how to talk to women. It will get better for poor Louise. Don't worry too much for her. It's too much for Louise to ask to love her husband instantly. He is a good match for her, one her family supports. He will provide for her and treat her well and she can stay near her family. What more could she ask?"

"But she can't even talk to him," Marie said. "She says she hates him."

"Oh, that's just a young girl talking," Cosette dismissed. "Trust me. There are worse things a girl can have than an inattentive husband."

"I suppose," Marie said.

"You've brought soup to the shelter on Sundays," Cosette said, referring to the shelter she and Marius started for battered women. "Many of those women were from good upbringing, whose life situations dragged them down. Believe me my darling Marie- with some men, the best thing they can do is ignore you."

Marie shivered, but her mother put her arm around her. "You needn't worry. Your father will probably never let you marry, not the way he talks about it."

Marie laughed, actually relieved hearing that.

"Jests aside," Cosette finished. "You are going to be cared for. We won't have you marrying anyone other than someone completely trustworthy and good."

* * *

Marie had thought that Jacques would break his word; he would surely be at the library every day to bother her. But he was never there when she went anymore. Either he stopped coming or he came very early in the morning or right before the library closed. She did not know why she was so discontented with this.

"How is your beau?" Victoire asked knowingly, coming to Marie's room without knocking.

Marie was laying on top of her covers reading. She kicked one of the throw pillows off the bed at her sister.

"Just because you finally found out what that word means doesn't mean you know anything," Marie said sharply.

Victoire climbed up onto her sister's bed. "Tell me about him."

"Listen to you!" Marie said with a laugh. "I don't have a beau, Vicky. Just a stupid young man who paid me some attention."

"I will never talk to boys. Ever," she declared.

"You talk to Jean and Courfeyrac and Leon," Marie said, bored.

"That's different."

"I suppose it is. Now let me go to bed. Goodnight, Vicky."

"Goodnight, Marie. Kiss," she said, and pursed her lips in the silly ritual she had with her sister.

Marie rolled her eyes, but did the same thing, making the silly kissy face.

"Mmmmmm," Marie and Victoire said for an absurdly long time, shaking their heads and bringing their faces together slowly before giving each other a peck.

"Now good night," Marie said, shooing her off her bed. "Tell Isa and the boys goodnight for me."

"I will!"

Marie continued looking through her book, before she absentmindedly reached into her bedside table, and took out Jacques' letter. She looked over the familiar words, just out of habit. It wasn't that she cared at all.


	6. No Fear

One afternoon, Marie was very curious. She had taken to looking around everywhere at the library, not just in the map room, to find Jacques Fabre, but never saw him. She was doubting her intelligence. It had seemed to be such a wonderful decision to banish him, but now she was lonely. For two weeks, she had thought there was an adventure in her hands. She'd tasted freedom, adulthood, and had fled from it. Now she regretted missing her chance.

She sighed to her mother that she wished to go to the markets. One day she'd seen him there. Since he was never at the library anymore, maybe he would be at the markets?

"Your father and I have to go to an event tonight," Cosette said when Marie asked her late one afternoon. "I cannot take you, I have to get ready. But if you promise to be back by five, before we leave, you can go with Jean."

Marie grimaced. She resented that she was not allowed out alone, but that her younger brother was viewed as a suitable chaperone.

"Thank you, mother," she said.

After some bargaining- Jean needed to go to the post office and said she would have to go with her if she needed to be taken somewhere- he said he would go with Marie.

They went to Les Halles first. Marie eagerly looked about, her large brown eyes expectant, but her face fell when she did not see him by any of the stands where she expected him. She walked through the marketplace, not losing hope. It was so busy, and so she could easy see herself missing him. But after a half hour, when her usually patient brother started to complain, she gave up.

They walked to the post office, enjoying the mild March day.

"You wait here," Jean said, wanting to leave Marie outside.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're just mailing a letter, are you not?"

"Er, yes," he said. "Just wait here please."

"Jean," Marie protested.

He ignored her and turned and went inside. Marie could not contain her curiosity. She counted to twenty, and then opened the door to the post office. She watched her brother near the post office boxes, taking a very large envelope from one. It was not the family's box; their box was on the other side. All their mail was delivered in the office, since their address was unlisted.

Marie furrowed her brows, but then went back outside, not the type to pry. She sensed that he would not answer her anyway, not with how secretive and mean he had been lately.

"One more stop," he said, when he came out. The envelope was nowhere to be seen, but she supposed he could have just tucked it into his jacket.

Marie just shrugged. She knew he would be taking this envelope somewhere, and was hoping to see where. Jean did not seem to notice that she was so curious, and they walked quite aways, until they reached a rundown cafe with ambiance.

"We won't stay," he said. Marie silently sat in an empty table outside the cafe, to wait for him.

This certainly was strange.

Jean took longer than she thought he would. Marie was drawing a pattern on the table with her finger, and counting the minutes.

"Marie," a voice said, very surprised, about she'd been waiting about five minutes.

She turned, and her heart skipped a beat. Jacques Fabre was standing before her, his blue eyes wide.

"Jacques- I mean... Bon jour, Monsieur," she said, blushing.

"What are you doing in this area?" he said, sounding concerned. It was not a very nice place she was outside. Several troublesome looking youths had already entered the restaurant during her time waiting.

"Just waiting for my brother," she said. "He's inside."

"I see," Jacques said. It was obvious he did not know if she wanted him to stay or not.

"I've been going to the library quite a lot," she said, looking at the ground. "I kept expecting you to be there, but you never were."

"I promised you I would stop, so I did," he said.

"Remember when you said I was not very self-aware?" she asked. "Well I have become a bit more self-aware, monsieur. I realize I am very shy, and I tend to want to protect myself. I may come off as aloof and cold, but really I'm just shy. I acted rashly. In the past few weeks I realized that sometimes, when I try to protect myself, it actually makes things worse."

"What kind of things?" he asked, eyes warm, a slight hopeful smile on his face. He took a step closer.

"Well I realize I'm more likely to be lonely if I never let myself talk to anyone," she said, bravely.

"But what about your father's plans for you?" he asked.

Marie blushed. "I think... I think that they are not quite finalized yet," was all she could come up with.

"I see," he said. "Am I allowed in the library again?" he asked, smiling and looking meek.

She laughed. "It was not my place to ban you. I apologize. But I... I had something to say to you, should I see you again. You will think me extremely bold, but you've already noticed I'm not like the other girls, what with how much I read and such. So..." she took a breath, now very worried this was the wrong thing to do. But the words flowed before she could stop them. "I have a garden at my house. We live in the rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, number six. My father is usually asleep by eleven. I think tomorrow evening I will be out for a stroll at that hour."

His eyes widened.

Marie knew it was a risky move, but she knew that she wanted to know him. The words of his letter, his expression of love, still rang in her ears and in her heart. From the thoughts and dreams she'd had recently, she was curious about whether those feelings would rise in her, too. A researcher, Marie was as curious about those feelings as she was about Jacques himself.

But though it seemed bold to invite a young man to her home after hours, Marie was more comfortable having him on her property, on her terms, just a scream's distance from her father, than anywhere else.

"I see," was all he said. Just then, Jean came out of the cafe. Jacques and Jean looked at each other for a long time.

Marie grew nervous- had Jean heard anything she had said? But he just nodded at Jacques.

"I'm ready," he said, and escorted Marie away. Marie expected her brother to ask about the young man she was talking to, but he never did. He actually did not mention anything about the cafe on their walk home. It seemed to be a silent agreement that they would not mention either his strange errands or Jacques to their parents.

* * *

"What made you change your mind?" Jacques asked Marie, very late the next night.

"I just realized that I had chosen fear over..." she did not know what to call this. That night, he'd come, and she let him in the garden. He talked first, which was a good thing. Marie had no idea what to say. He told her all the things he'd wanted to tell her in the past three weeks, apologized for coming on too strong, and then confessed how happy he was when he saw her again the day before.

"I was thinking, not an hour before I saw you, that I would never see you again. I had ruined things. You cannot imagine my joy when I saw you sitting outside that God-forsaken cafe."

Their hands were clasped now, but Marie's stomach was still tied in knots because of her nervousness. She could not imagine kissing him or even saying anything affectionate to him yet. She'd been kind, yes, and eventually talkative, but was still too reserved to open up her soul to him. He seemed to understand, though, and was asking her a lot of questions about herself. Harmless questions- had she lived here her whole life? Yes. How many siblings did she have? Five, but two were twins. What was her mother like? What was her favorite piece of music? Did she play piano at all? Did she spend a lot of time in this garden? What was her childhood like?

By the end of the night, Marie had told him every harmless piece of information she could think of, but he still had nothing he could hurt her with. She preferred it that way, at least for the first night. On her part, she knew that his father was dead, but had left enough money for his mother and baby sister, who was ten years younger than he. He did not live with them, but saw his mother frequently. He was twenty two, a lawyer, and a Catholic.

Marie actually felt something akin to hope- he did not seem at all dangerous. He was a lawyer, just like her father.

"Where do you work?"

He said he used to work for himself when he first got his license, but had just started working for a firm. She'd heard of it- her father sometimes dealt with representatives from it. She smiled to herself, thinking that- other than the fact that she was meeting him without permission- her father might actually approve of this Jacques.

Finally, he left and Marie went to bed, but only after her asked to come back the next night.

"I might be out walking then, too," she said shyly.

* * *

They ended up meeting every night. They had to speak softly, for her parent's windows overlooked the garden and her mother slept very lightly, but other than that they met no challenges. It wasn't for a week that Marie started to feel warmly for Jacques.

That March, they became friends. He did not fawn over her again, like he had that one day at the library. She was glad for it. Instead he showed his respect for her, coming only when she invited him. When she was quiet, he did not press her. He never asked her anything too personal, but offered personal stories about himself, as if to make it clear that he trusted her. Marie found herself looking forward to his visits, and being very sad to see him go. One day in early April, he came with an article he'd read on travelling in a newspaper that he'd clipped for her, thinking she would be interested.

The next day, he brought her his favorite book. He confessed that he was interested in travel, but only marginally, and had never actually enjoyed the books on it. But he brought her his book of favorite poems and asked if she would read it, because he wanted to know what she thought. Marie took it.

She read it the first night, but did not tell him she'd read it for a few days. She finally let loose how beautiful the words were, and how she had even wept at one of the poems.

They laughed, they told stories, and by April she was constantly thinking of things to tell him during the day. It was different being friends with him than it had been with Louise. She asked advice from him, and they discussed books and concepts. Marie had always been one of the most educated girls out of all her friends, and seldom found anyone to talk about those things with. Now she had an actual companion to share information with.

She did not fall in love with him until May. One night, they were sitting on her stone bench, in comfortable silence. They had clasped hands.

After about on hour of calm quiet, he looked over at her. He stared at her for a long time. She smiled, uncomfortable, and looked away. When she looked up, he was still looking at her.

"Marie Pontmercy," he finally said slowly, relishing her name. He looked like he was putting together a conclusion, and when he next spoke it was like he was telling her something he had been thinking of for a very long time. "You are the most brilliant person I have ever known. I sincerely hope I am not the only one who knows what an amazing person you are."

She turned to him, and felt something in her break. The protective walls she had put up finally started to crumble, and she allowed herself to feel. Two months after he first came into her garden, Marie finally trusted him.

Leaning toward him, he kept very still. She was reminded of someone feeding birds, keeping still so as not to scare them away. But for the first time, she was not scared. When her lips touched his, she was overwhelmingly aware that she was utterly unprotected. She'd let herself become bare, but she was not scared at all.

When he kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her, she wondered why she'd ever waited.

* * *

**Thoughts?**


	7. A Promise

"Papa, what is it exactly you do?" Marie asked one day as she poked through her father's books. He was in his study, doing some work, and she was keeping him company and looking through his law books.

"You know what I do," he said. "I'm a lawyer."

"I know, but I've never seen you in court."

"Arguing for a living sounds exciting," he began, "But I assure you if you came to court and watched me at work, you'd be dreadfully bored. Only some of it is the exciting part. Most of it is paperwork, waiting, and watching other cases. I do get called a lot of names, though. That could be exciting."

Marie flashed him a smile. "I think it would be interesting. If you're doing it, I'd be interested."

"In the work or in what I'm doing?"

"Both," she said thoughtfully. "I'm starting to think law is interesting."

"Marie interested in law," Marius said, leaning back in his seat. "I never would have thought!"

"Well, not seriously," she backtracked. "It's not as though I could ever be a lawyer or anything."

"And why not?"

"Father," she reminded him. "A woman lawyer?"

He shrugged. "If anyone could do it, they'd be you. Marie, if half the men up there had a fraction the sense you do, I think there would be far less lawbreakers."

"No one would take me seriously," she said.

"For you to be a lawyer would be hard," he allotted her. "But not impossible."

"Maybe I will read up on it a little," she thought, and picked on of his books of the shelves.

"There you go," he said, smiling as she went and sat on the couch across the room.

Marie was actually not too terribly interested in law, but Jacques liked to talk to her about his cases and she wanted to know what he was talking about. Moreover, it would be nice to finally know what her father did, day to day.

* * *

Her time with Jacques was exciting and fast-paced. He practically never stopped talking! From the moment he appeared outside her gate, he would start telling her stories. While she was opening the gate for him and he was walking to the garden, he was already halfway through telling her about something that had happened to him that day, stopping his words only briefly to kiss her, and then resuming his talking as soon as they pulled apart.

"You wouldn't believe the look on his face, Marie," he said as she led him to sit on the bench. "I swear he did not know I was a licensed attorney- it was hilarious. I told him that he couldn't just lie straight in my face, I could tell, but he didn't listen. I wish you were there, you would have laughed and I actually would have appeared quick for once-"

"You're quick," she protested.

"Not compared to you," he argued.

"I love you, do you know that?" she said one night in the middle of May.

"No," he said, his eyes wide, his smile bright as the sun. "I did not know that. I've been praying for it, but I did not know it. Please, Marie, say it again."

"I love you," she said, smiling. The words were surprisingly easy to say, once she let herself admit to it.

"I love you to," he said, laughing and kissing her over and over on her cheeks and her lips. "I love you, Marie!"

He came every night. His words would slow after an hour or so, once they were all caught up from the time they spent apart during the day, and then they would sit together. Sometimes their conversations would turn very deep then, discussing people or love or God, or else they would sit in the quiet together.

Jacques knew everything about her whole family- Isabel's frequent illnesses, Victoire's nosiness, Courfeyrac's sharp tongue,Leon's sad, left-behind attitude, and, most puzzling, Jean's strange behavior.

Jacques had expressed many times that he wished she would tell her family about him.

"Or else I will!" he joked. She made him promise he wouldn't- she was not ready for that. Moreover, she finally had privacy, and a secret. She was not ready to give it up yet.

"Have you told _your_ family?"

"I have," he said. "My mother and my sister know."

"How much?" Marie asked, looking horrified. She knew that she and Jacques hadn't done anything wrong, but still did not want his mother to think she was loose or anything of that sort.

"Well I told them that I had met a young woman named Marie who is absolutely amazing. Sophie wants to meet you."

Marie knew all about his family, too. His father had been a doctor, and his mother had stayed home with he and his sister, Sophie. He had some family money that was left to them, but now Jacques was earning money for his family. Mainly to keep his sister out of any financial problems later in life, to be sure she could marry well. She was twelve, and from what Jacques told Marie, she was sweet, clever, and knew him best. Apparently, for a twelve-year-old, she was amazingly reflective.

His father died when Jacques was fifteen, and Sophie was five. He'd gotten pneumonia.

Marie knew he was close with his mother and sister, but had no idea he'd told them. She now knew why she, who was very close with her own family, could not bear to tell them.

"Are you ashamed?" he pressed, but not judgmentally. "I know I am not exactly what your family would pick for you."

'Why not?" Marie argued. "You are smart, accomplished, and responsible. You are not even poor. Why should my father protest?"

"Why haven't you _told _him?" Jacques flipped back at her. Marie had no answer.

"How do I know you love me if you can't even tell your family?" he demanded.

"I do love you!" she would reassure him. "How can you doubt that?"

"If I came to your front door tomorrow, requesting to see you, would you pretend not to know me?" he asked.

"Never," she said. He looked like he did not believe her, but he never did test it.

"I will tell them," she said. "But I'm not ready yet."

"Do you love me?" he would ask.

"I adore you."

"Then... I guess I cannot ask for more," he would resign, and sit beside her from his angry pacing in front of the bench. "But do you understand? I want to be honest. I love you, and I don't see why others cannot know."

"I've never had anything of my own," Marie said simply. "Can't I keep you, just for me, for awhile?"

"I'm all yours," he would say, opening his arms as if offering himself to her.

"It's not the same when I have to share you with my family," she would counter.

"I suppose I understand," he would say, but she knew he never did. He was upfront, bold. That was why he'd written her that letter, and why he'd continued to harass he in the library. He did not hide. Marie liked to think, and mull things over in her own mind before letting anyone else know about them. Though she loved Jacques, she was not ready to have to prove it to everyone. She wanted him to stay just hers.

* * *

"Happy Birthday!" Cosette said one last time to her daughter, kissing her on the cheek. "I hope you have another wonderful year, my darling Marie."

"Thank you maman, papa," she said, kissing them both after dinner. She yawned heartily. "I think I need to go to bed! I'm exhausted!"

Excusing herself, she went up to her room, leaving her parents behind in the living room.

"She's eighteen now," Cosette said. To an outsider, it would seem she was stating the obvious, but to Marius, he knew what his wife meant exactly.

"You know I'm not ready for this," he said. "But... I think you are right."

"I know it's hard," Cosette soothed. "Neither of us wants to see her go."

"It's not just that," Marius said. "It's not just about losing her around the house, losing her as my baby. It's about Marie, and Marie's mind. Now, she's my girl, a Pontmercy, in my care. But when she marries, she's someone else's responsibility, and she has to answer to someone else. We'll never have a way of knowing _exactly_ what kind of man she marries, before she does it. Cosette, we have a brilliant daughter."

"I know," she said.

"And if she marries someone who puts her down for it, what will happen? She might not be able to read, and she'll never be able to do anything intellectually with her gifts. Marie, more than any other of our children, is brilliant, and it would be a waste to see her married off to someone who does not let her use her mind."

"So what should we do?"

"Wait?" Marius pleaded.

"Marius, how much longer can we wait? She's by no means old now- she has several more years before she's on the older side. But when she's twenty-five, well... that's not quite old yet, but it's not young either. Once she gets past that age... what are we to do?"

"Cosette..." he said, and put his face in his hands. "I just can't imagine it. Every time I picture walking her down the aisle, I just see a faceless stranger who just wants a 'wife.' But he's marrying _Marie,_ my daughter, not just a woman to be his wife... I can't imagine giving her away."

"Then we just make sure she marries someone who appreciates her," Cosette said.

"That's so easy," Marius said sarcastically.

"Yes, well, there's five more of these we have to go through," she said.

"Oh. The boys will be easy- Courfeyrac we'll just tie down until he's old enough. Jean will wander in some day in love with a sweet, nice girl- mark my words, it will happen- andLeon... well I don't know yet about him. Isabel will find some brooding writer. The only one we have to worry about is Victoire."

"Don't even start on that," Cosette said, thinking of her blonde, blue-eyed daughter, who already verged on flirting with her brothers' friends. "She's going to be quite the hit when she has her debut."

"I can't think about her yet," Marius said. "She's only nine. Let me have a few more years before my hair turns grey, please? Now about Marie... why don't I just _start_ looking? We can invite some people over, talk to Marie, see what she thinks. We're by no means out on any kind of search."

"Alright. Just as long as we make progress, that's all I ask."

"I need to think," Marius said. Cosette went upstairs, and Marius stayed down in the living room, brooding in his own thoughts.

* * *

"Happy Birthday," Marie heard a few hours later, as she opened the gate for Jacques. He kissed her slowly, lingering on her lips and holding her tightly to him.

"Thank you," she said, keeping her forehead against his. She'd grown so attached to him- she knew his smell now, and how it lingered on her clothes for hours after she'd been with him. She could almost feel the impression of his hand in hers, from holding it so many hours during the night. She heard his voice in her dreams, felt ghosts of his kisses when she missed him, and wanted him with her all hours of the day.

She was beginning to think that she could never be without him. He started to mean a huge amount to her, and to be a presence in her life. When she looked into the future, she saw him there. He was no longer replaceable.

"I have something for you," he said, still standing close. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. When he opened it, Marie saw by the light of the moon that it was a small ring with a sapphire on it. "My mother has been saving it for me."

He reached one finger beneath her chin and made her look up at him. Her eyes widened.

"For when I wanted to ask a girl to marry me," he finished.

"Jacques," she whispered, her heart pounding.

"I love you, Marie. I want to be with you. I want to marry you. I've talked to my family and I'm fully prepared to talk to yours- but I wanted to know if you want me first."

He took a very deep breath before he continued. "Marie," he began, his gaze intense and passionate. "Will you marry me?"

_Can I?_ she wondered first. But then she realized that this was _her_ life, her future. Hadn't her father said she was free to do whatever she wanted?

And all Marie knew was that she wanted him. He had brought her more happiness in the past four months than anyone ever had.

"Yes," she said.

He let out an excited hoot, and Marie hurriedly shushed him, but was so elated herself she did not care. They laughed out loud as he kissed her emphatically, and he lifted her into the air and spun her around.

"I can't believe it," he said over and over.

"I love you," she said.

"I know you're not ready to marry me just yet," he said, a few moments afterward. "So I brought this."

He brought out a silver chain, and hooked the ring through it. "You can wear it, but that way no one will know. Keep it close to your heart, keep it with you. That's all I ask."

"I'll wear it every moment," she promised, and lifted her hair as he hooked the fastening. "But you're right. Just not yet."

"I'll wait," he promised, taking her hand firmly. "Now that I have your promise, I'll give you mine. I'll wait as long as you need. I won't push you to tell your parents just yet. Now that you've given me your word, I won't rush you."

"Thank you," she said.

She knew the moment Jacques came and asked for her hand and her family knew, her mother would want details, her father would shut himself away, and her sisters would titter and her brothers would tease. Except Jean. He would be protective, wouldn't he? Possibly- it was so hard to tell with him now.

"Madame Marie Fabre," she whispered.

"I like it," he declared.

"Of course you do," she said, but smiled. "So do I."

* * *

One week later, on the last night of June, she was out in the garden with Jacques. Her parents were quiet that day- they always were. It was the anniversary of her grandfather's death- her mother's father. Though she did not know the whole story, her father had always been very clear that he was the best man either of them had ever known.

But she was far from mournful. She had just had the happiest week of her life, and was falling more and more in love with Jacques every minute. She was almost ready to tell him that she wanted him to meet her father. He was so perfect- he was kind, he was smart, he was honorable and good to his own family, and he seemed to appreciate that _she_ was smart, what else could her father ask for?

"I have another place for us," he'd said when she came out of the house. He was leaning against the wall outside the gate, waiting for her. As soon as she came out of the house, he was talking, as per usual. "Africa."

"Africa?" she'd exclaimed, but he listed several cities.

"There's fabrics, and coffee, and animals. You wanted exotic, I gave you exotic. We'll go toAfrica."

"Perfect," she said, adding it to their seemingly endless list of places to see together. "What aboutNew Zealand?"

"My dear," he sighed. "I do not want to spend some of the best years of my life on a ship."

"It won't take _years_ to get there," she protested. "Come- we'll see all the areas of the globe!"

"Alright then," he said. "I'll add Africa, so you can addNew Zealand. We've gotten decidedly more ambitious since the beginning, when we only talked ofLondonandRome."

"Well, we have decidedly more years to spend exploring together," she said suggestively, pulling the chain from the front of her dress, where her ring was tucked away.

He put his hand behind her neck and leaned forward, meeting his lips to hers. Marie smiled against his mouth, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself close to him and moving her lips, deepening their kiss.

"Marie Euphrasie Pontmercy."

They burst apart, and she turned to see her father, Monsieur le Baron Pontmercy, standing in an utter rage underneath the porch light.

* * *

**AHH! Reviews?**


	8. Dinner with the Pontmercys

Marius went upstairs, and found Cosette sitting up awake, the candles still lit. He leaned against the door once inside the bedroom, and closed his eyes.

"What's the matter?" Cosette asked, sitting up.

"I have to tell you something," he said, and sat on the bed. She looked at him, eyes wide. He was so stressed- something horrible must have happened.

"I was just outside in the garden. I found Marie there, with a young man."

Cosette gasped, and put her hand over her mouth. "Who?"

"His name was _Jacques,"_ Marius spat. "He's in his twenties. A lawyer. They're in _'love'_ apparently."

"Marius, what do you think we should do?"

"What I want to do is punch him hard in the face," Marius growled.

"Marius," Cosette scolded, crossing her arms over her chest. She sat up further, away from the pillows, crossing her legs beneath her, getting ready for a long conversation. "You want to punch him in the face for falling in love with our daughter?"

"Well I'm certainly not asking him to move in," Marius snapped.

"We're certainly not going to let Marie be with anyone who is not good enough for her, or who won't take proper care of her. But that doesn't mean we can't _meet_ this young man," Cosette reasoned. "After all, we had nowhere to start when we talked about introducing her to possible options. Maybe it's best she's found someone on her own."

"Cosette, I'm almost completely sure he's an idiot."

"You don't know that. You have to meet him."

"I did meet him!" Marius exclaimed. "I just met him!"

"Yes, you just met him. He was probably terrified, and very embarassed. We have to meet him given proper notice."

"I didn't tell you the worst part yet," Marius said.

"What is it?" Cosette asked, frightened.

"They were _kissing!"_

Cosette bit her lip. "That's all?"

"What do you mean 'that's all'?" Marius demanded. "That's completely unacceptable! Who knows what else they've been doing!"

"Oh, Marius," Cosette dismissed. "Marie wouldn't do anything else. She's not reckless."

"I only kissed you twice," he reminded her, "when we were meeting in your garden. And both of those times I could hardly be blamed. This kiss I just saw- it wasn't just some little peck, it was... well it was obvious they've done plenty of kissing before! When I kissed you, well I thought I'd never see you again, remember?"

"No, we didn't kiss much, but we were hardly saints," she reminded him.

"I don't see anything wrong with what we were doing. I was exceptionally careful with you. You probably don't know this, but once, you leaned down and your dress gaped open and I _looked away-"_

"Oh, you looked," Cosette argued, waving her hand dismissively.

Marius sputtered. "I did not! I was a complete gentleman!"

"How did you know my dress gaped if you didn't look?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "And, my dear husband, you should know that while you may have been exceedingly polite, I was a little less well-behaved."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"I'd worn that dress at least a hundred times by the time I wore it out in the garden with you," she explained. "I knew it gaped open when I leaned over."

His jaw dropped. "Why ever would you do that on purpose?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," she said, shrugging. "You proved to be who I thought you were."

"You were _testing_ me?" he asked.

"Yes, and you passed," she said. "See, you hardly ever kissed me or touched me, and I didn't know if you even wanted to. I was disappointed when you didn't try to after that, but after a few weeks I realized it was probably better that way. But this is completely off-topic. We're talking about Marie."

"And the brute in our garden," Marius growled.

"Wouldn't you rather she be with someone she loved? Someone who loved her?" Cosette asked.

"Not if he's not right for her."

"You mean not if you didn't pick him out," Cosette corrected, and knew she was right when Marius looked away. "Oh, darling, we'll still meet him. Why don't you have him over for dinner? You can get all the information about him you need then. Just don't be too hard on him. We'll see if he's right for Marie, but we have to give him a proper chance."

Marius was quiet for a very long time. "Fine," he eventually agreed. "We'll invite him."

They were quiet for a very long time, and Cosette blew out the candles. Marius moved closer to her, and he put an arm around his wife.

"Remember when she was losing her teeth?" he said, sounding absolutely heartbroken.

"Yes," Cosette said, finally letting herself feel mournful. "I can't believe she's a woman."

"She's not," Marius said, gasping as if the word was an expletive. "She's a girl!"

"She's in love," Cosette said.

"She's only eighteen."

"Marius, by the time I had turned eighteen, we had been married for months. I'd already been pregnant once, and had the first miscarriage. When I was eighteen, I was _pregnant_ with Marie."

Marius was trying to find another argument. "She shouldn't marry the first kid she feels something for."

"I did," she argued again.

"I still don't think I'm good enough for you," he countered.

"You've done pretty well in the past nineteen years," Cosette said. "All I am saying is we should give him a chance. We aren't planning a wedding yet."

"Fine. One dinner."

"That's all I ask."

* * *

Marie's stomach was in knots as she looked out her window onto her street. Finally she saw him round the corner.

Running through the house, Marie left through the kitchen door, into the garden, and out the gate so her parents could not catch her.

"Marie," Jacques said, looking thoroughly calm and happy as he walked down the street to her house, ready to meet her parents.

"Hello," she said, and dragged him into a private corner where they could not be seen from the windows of her house. "I'm here to warn you for a minute before you go inside. So my mother is lovely, you needn't worry about her. Victoire talks a lot to me, but I highly suspect she'll be afraid of you, since you're a handsome young man-"

"Thank you, I didn't know you thought so-"

"Oh, hush," Marie shushed him. "Courfeyrac has a sharp tongue, but he's only a thirteen-year-old and hardly matters. Leon and Isabel won't bother you, Jean might though. He's my oldest brother-"

"I _know_ Marie. You've told me about all of them before. I'm prepared to be my most charming self."

"It's my father I'm worried about," Marie said, biting her lip. "He's been complaining about _everything_ all day. He's in an absolutely terrible mood. I'm sorry, but you and I have angered one of the best lawyers in Paris, and there's nothing to do about it. There _will_ be an inquisition tonight. But he _should_ like you, eventually-"

"Marie, love," Jacques said, kissing her softly. "I am happy to be here. I've wanted to meet your family for weeks, remember? I'm just glad they finally know about us. I'm prepared to take a little grating from your father, if it means I get to be with you."

Marie finally smiled. "Thank you."

"Now go inside and look surprised that I'm early," he said.

* * *

"You remind me very much of my sister Sophie," Jacques said an hour later, walking into the dining room with Victoire. "She's a few years older than you, but just like you. I'm sure you two would get along very well."

"What is she like? Victoire asked, blushing and looking pleased to be getting attention from Marie's beau.

"She's very clever and sweet," Jacques said. "You'd probably like her. Marie told me so much about you. She says you notice everything going on around you. That's just how Sophie is. I can't get away with anything around her."

"Marie talked about me to you?" Victoire asked, her eyes wide.

"Endlessly," Jacques said, putting a brilliant smile on the little girl's face. "She adores you."

After they all sat down to dinner and said grace, Marie's mother got the conversation moving again. Jacques had to admire how graceful she was; she'd managed to make him feel both welcome and liked within minutes, whether or not that was true. He was barely even nervous.

"What law firm do you work at, Jacques?" she asked, as Marie's youngest brother passed him the bread.

Jacques talked a little about work, which actually got Marie's father involved in the conversation. But Monsieur Pontmercy quickly changed the subject.

"I heard you telling Victoire that you have a sister. Sophie?"

"Yes," Jacques said, smiling. "She's twelve."

"Are you close with her?"

"Very. I try to stop by my mother's for an hour or so every day to see them."

Marius nodded slowly. Then he leaned forward. Marie held her breath; it was clear her father was going in for the kill.

"What would you do, Monsieur Fabre, if you found out your Sophie- in a few years, I'd imagine- was being courted by a young man? Someone you did not know at all? You just found out she was meeting someone without your permission, and he did not ask you if he could court your sister. Did not introduce himself to you or your mother. What would you say?"

The table held their breath. Marie winced, watching her father's eyes grow harsh and cold.

"Well," Jacques said, after thinking for a long moment. "I suppose it would depend on Sophie, wouldn't it? If she had anything against this young man, then I would be the first to see him go. But if she loved him, then I would have to tolerate him. As long as he loved her and treated her well, of course. I would still keep a close watch on them, but if they loved each other, who am I to say she cannot marry him?"

Marius looked at him for a long time, before sighing and nodding. "That is a good answer."

Marie sighed in a relief too, and caught her mother's slight smile.

"I just hope your answer does not come from practice in the court," Marius said slyly.

"Practice?" Jacques played dumb. "I thought we were just talking about dear Sophie."

Marius actually cracked a smile. "Another good answer."

"But if we weren't," Jacques said slowly. "I think the answer would be the same. A father would have to be very careful with any of his daughters. But in the end, I think she should make the decision."

After dinner, Marius, Cosette, and Marie went to escort Jacques out.

"It was lovely meeting you," Cosette said to him after they had bid him goodbye.

"Thank you so much for having me," he said to both Marius and Cosette. "I have been wanting to meet you both for _ages,_ but Marie said I was not allowed-"

"Oh, you're so funny," Marie said, laughing as if he'd told a hysterical joke. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," Jacques said, sneaking a wink at her, when she scowled at him.

When the door closed, her parents rounded on her.

"He's wanted to meet us for _ages_?" Cosette asked.

"Well, yes," Marie confessed. "He was always bothering me about it, but I didn't think-"

"Why didn't you invite him?" Cosette asked. "He's wonderful."

Marie's jaw dropped. "You think so?"

"I think he seems like a very nice young man," Cosette said honestly.

Marie looked expectantly at her father.

"He is alright," Marius said, shrugging and walking away.

* * *

"What is the matter with him?" Marie asked when her mother came into her bedroom later that night.

"He loves you, that's all," Cosette said. "You have to take it from his angle. He does not know Jacques, and he wants to make sure you are with someone good."

"I _am_," Marie said. "Maman, I know you met him tonight, but you don't really know him yet, and he _is_ good. He's always kind to me, and very respectful and interesting and maman, I _do_ love him."

"Your father knows that," Cosette said. "It will just take some convincing."

"Ugh!" Marie said, and flopped down onto the pillows. "You and father had it so _easy._ Your parents just paired you up, and you miraculously fell in love. You're so lucky you fell in love with someone you were _supposed _to. You have no idea what it's like to have to be afraid that your father will just banish him away-"

"Marie," Cosette said, raising an eyebrow. "How do you think your father and I met?"

"Well, you had money," Marie reasoned. "And father had family money. Didn't you just get paired up?"

"No," Cosette said with a laugh, shaking her head. "No, no, not at _all._ We didn't tell any of you children this story, because we didn't want to encourage you to talk to young, strange men, but I suppose that happened on its own. Just don't tell your sisters, especially Victoire."

"What happened?" Marie said, her interest peaked. She sat up, intrigued.

"Well, when your father was young, he was very, very poor. He'd fought with your great-grandfather, who lived with us until you were three, when he died. You probably don't remember him."

"Yes, but Papa talks about him."

"Yes- well he did not live with him, and papa was very poor. I lived with my father. We had money, but my father did not spend it; he saved it all for me. I didn't even know I had any money at all. Your father and I met behind our fathers' backs, and it wasn't until they found out about us that we were allowed to get married, and were given any money. But it was far from easy for us, Marie. We were not 'just paired up.' When our fathers found out, they were angry, and did not want us to marry. Your great-grandfather was convinced I was not good enough for your father. We almost didn't marry."

"I had no idea!" Marie said.

"We thought not telling you girls would be a good idea," Cosette said. "See... lots of young men are _not_ young men you girls want to get mixed up with."

"That's what papa always said."

"He's right," Cosette warned. "But once in awhile you'll meet one who is different, and I certainly hope Jacques is."

"He is," Marie promised.

"I hope," Cosette said, still not entirely sure.

* * *

For three days, Marie waited for her father to even talk about Jacques. He sat in silence most of the time, and Marie was certain he was still angry with her. He never even mentioned Jacques' name. But finally, he did bring him up. Turning to Marie at dinner one night, he said:

"You can write to Monsieur Fabre. Tell him he can come again for dinner tomorrow night."

Marie had grinned, and ran off to write him. Her father liked him! Why else would he invite him?

That night, she'd finally slept soundly. She fell asleep with her hand clasped around the sapphire ring Jacques had given her (which her father still did not know about, obviously) and had very sweet dreams.

Until she was woken in the middle of the night by voices. Her parents were awake in the hallway.

"Stay here," her father's voice said to his wife. Marie heard a pounding at the front door. Throwing her dressing gown on in the dark, she opened her bedroom door and found her mother, dressed the same way, candle in hand.

"What is going on?" Marie asked.

"There's someone at the door. Go back to sleep, I'm sure it's fine," Cosette said, but Marie shook her head.

Sighing at her daughter's obstinance, Cosette led Marie down the stairway. They stopped halfway up, and Marie saw her father's back, talking to someone at the door. The porter was asleep, so he was no help.

She heard him talking, but she could not catch his words from so far away. After a few hushed, murmured sentences, Marius turned around.

Expecting reasurrance, Marie's heart flipped. It was clear it was not coming. Marius quickly ascended the stairs, his face serious, passing them.

"That was the police," he said, his voice strained. "Jean has been arrested. I have to go downtown to get him."


	9. Marius' Fear

At two in the morning, the front door of the Pontmercy house opened. Marius walked in with his son. Marie, who was still up with her mother, saw her brother Jean looking absolutely drained.

Her mother was up before the door was even closed, her son's face in her hands.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Oh, Goodness, you look awful- are you alright?"

"Mother, I am very tired," Jean said. "I don't want to talk tonight-"

"Oh, no," Marius said, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, you aren't going to bed yet. You're going to tell us exactly what the _hell_ you were thinking, and exactly what happened."

Cosette looked at Marie with weary eyes. "Marie. It's best you go to bed."

Her father nodded. "Go upstairs, Marie."

She nodded, understanding. It wasn't any of her business, listening to her parents talk to Jean.

But halfway up the stairs, her curiosity stopped her. Jean had been acting so strange, and she had seen most of it. She was going to find out what happened, or else she would _never_ sleep.

She climbed the rest of the stairs, and opened and shut her bedroom door so her parents could hear from the living room downstairs. Then, quiet as a mouse, she crept halfway down the stairs, and sat down, so she could listen.

"...just don't know what was going through your damned head, Jean," her father's voice said. "I thought you were smart."

"You don't understand!" Jean protested, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

"You're right! I don't! God- Jean, do you know what could happen to you?"

"Am I going to go to jail?" Jean said, sounding terrified.

It was quiet for a long time. Marie held her breath- this was worse than she feared.

Her father sighed. "No. You're only sixteen, you won't go to jail. You'll have the best lawyer I can get you, they won't charge you. But Jean, you better tell me exactly what happened. What the hell were you _thinking?_ Stealing government documents-"

"Oh, my God," her mother said. "Marius, what happened?"

"Tell your mother," her father said, his voice steady and cold. Marie had never heard her father this angry. When he'd scolded Jacques in the garden he hadn't even come _close_ to being this angry.

"I... For the last few months I've been meeting with a political group," he said, his voice shaking. "And tonight I snuck into the _Palais du Luxembourg_ and I... I... I went to try and take some of the documents but one of the guards heard me and..."

"Jean," Cosette said, but her voice sounded gentle. "Who told you to do this?"

Marie heard an odd sound, beneath the sound of her own beating heart. She realized it was the sound of her brother, crying in shame. Marie decided then that there wasn't a sound she hated more.

"Did someone tell you to do this?" her father asked, as if it had not occurred to him.

"Of course someone did, Marius- my God, he's only a boy-"

"It was the other men in the group," Jean said, his voice strained, terrified. He sounded like a child again. "They told me to... I didn't know what to do... I just did it."

"What are their names?"

"I don't know-"

"Jean!" her father scolded. "Tell us their names, it's the only way to clear this up."

"I actually don't know," he pleaded. "We don't know each other's names. We went by code names, so if one of us was arrested we couldn't turn each other in."

"Oh, my," Cosette said, sounding absolutely overcome. Marie crept down the stairs more, and peaked through the iron grating on the stairs into the living room. She saw Jean on the couch, his face in his hands. Her mother sat with him, her arm around her son. Marius stood up, looking too stressed and too angry to take a seat.

"What kind of group _is_ this?" Marius spat. "How did you meet these kinds of people?"

"They're anarchists-"

"Jean," Cosette gasped, her face beyond frightened now. "You don't really believe in _anarchy_ do you?"

Marie, who had only a vague idea what the word meant, was now confused. But she had a sick feeling, fear for her brother and for what had happened to him. Obviously he had gotten mixed in with the wrong kind of people.

"Well, not really- I don't know! Stop staring at me like that!" he said to his father. "I just... I was out one day, in class. When I came out there was a group of young students, and they were handing out pamphlets, and they talked about the principle of anarchy, and I found it interesting. I'd never heard about it before, and I just wanted to know more about it, for curiosity's sake. I went to one of their talks, and then I met one of the students afterward. He was older than me, maybe twenty-one or a few years around there. He invited me to come to one of their group meetings."

"Jean, you can't just trust whoever you meet on the street," Marius said, still pacing back and forth, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Cosette rubbed her son's shoulder, and encouraged him to go on.

"So I went. They were so smart-"

"I highly doubt that-" Marius spat, but his son interrupted him.

"They _were._ Maybe not smart about how they go about things, but they were learned and interesting. Haven't you ever been caught up in something? And I was the youngest person there, and I felt... advanced to be there, or something. They included me, and started telling me their plans. I kept going back. Their meetings were late at night, and I would go when the rest of the house was asleep."

"Don't you think something is wrong with a group who cannot meet in daylight?" Marius demanded. "And what the hell is wrong with these people that they used you? You're just a _kid _Jean-"

"I'm not though! I'm younger than them, yes-"

"_You are a kid_!" Marius exploded. "That's exactly what you are! You're too young to see how dangerous something like this, and how groups like this can be absolutely poisonous. You are _sixteen, _Jean. Legally, you can't do anything by yourself yet. You still live here, and have to answer to your mother and your father. Why do you think this group wanted you? Because a kid like you wants to feel _included,_ and goes along with whatever these idiots have to say! At the end of the day, you don't matter to them! You can't turn a single one of them in, because they didn't even tell you their God damned names! Jesus Christ, Jean, could you do _anything _less intelligent?"

"I didn't do it to be an idiot!" her brother yelled. Marie was now sure the other children would be awake, but she couldn't leave her post yet. She was terrified. "I did it because it was interesting! No, I don't know their names! But they _did_ want me, because I'm smart, father. Maybe this wasn't smart, but I am smart and they could use me as something other than their puppet. Anyway, what do you know about groups like this?"

"Not much," her father said, glaring at his son. "This is about a hundred times worse than anything I was ever a part of. But when I was your age- hell, no, I was older than you- I was part of an illegal political group. Except here's the difference, son. We were _friends._ All of us had each other's interests at heart. Not one of us would have turned the other ones in. We all knew everything about each other, because we trusted each other not to ever turn against the rest of the group."

"These aren't bad people, father-"

"Maybe not, but they sure as hell aren't your friends. This group that I was a part of, yes, it was illegal, but do you know what we were fighting for? A _republic._ A human right. Not _anarchy,_ something that destroys civilization itself-"

"In your opinion-"

"Jean, could you for once listen to me? Let me finish!"

Marie watched her father close his eyes, and then continue, his voice quiet, sounding absolutely crushed.

"I left the group long before any action took place. But my best friend in the world- to this day the best friend I've ever had- he stayed with them to the last day. You know what happened to him?"

Jean nodded slowly, his face white. Even Marie, who didn't know anything about illegal politics, had a guess. Her stomach felt sick, and she remembered the origin of her brother Courfeyrac's name: her father's best friend, who had died when he was very young. She had no idea it came from something this tragic.

"He died. They all died. Every last one of them was killed in a street fight. At the time they thought it was worth it; I was the only one who lived, knowing each one of them, knowing what they fought for, and seeing the world after it. I still have no idea what it was they accomplished, Jean. Now all they are is dust. Is that what you want to end up as?"

Marie's mother was crying now, her hand over her mouth.

"Do you want to do that to me?" Marius demanded. "To see my son dead before he turns twenty? Do you think I could stand to watch that happen? Do you want your mother to watch as they bury her son? Have your sisters crying at your funeral-?"

"I understand!" Jean burst out. "Stop it!"

"No," Marius said, glaring at him. "Not until you understand, really. You will never see this group again, Jean. I will make sure you don't go back to jail, but I hope your hours there served you well. I hope you remember what that was like, because if you go back to that group, you know you'll only see more of the inside of a cell. And I can't promise I'll come and get you a second time."

"Father!"

"You won't put your family in danger," Marius vowed.

"Jean," Cosette said. "We love you. You made a mistake. We understand. But do you understand what kind of danger you put yourself in?"

"I _understand!" _he yelled, standing up. "I won't go back! I promise!"

He looked at his father for a very long time, and finally crumpled. "I am sorry. I really am. I didn't know what I was getting myself into... they were so charismatic, and I..."

"I know," Marius said, his voice finally sounding soft and understanding again. Marie finally recognized her father. "It's very frightening."

"I'm sorry," he said, and Marie heard tears in his voice again. Marie watched as her father embraced Jean, and he cried like a child. Marie was somewhat horrified. She hadn't seen a scene like that- her father comforting her brother, crying that way- since he was a small child. But he was so terrified. Marie had never seen that kind of fear in his eyes.

Their mother stood, too, and hushed him. She took Jean into her arms. He was larger than both her mother and her father, and was a whole head taller than his mother. But her mother still held him in the comforting way she had, the kind of embrace that Marie knew. She remembered sobbing as a child from whatever injury, whether it be her feelings that were hurting, or a scraped knee. Her mother's embrace could heal almost any kind of hurt.

"It'll be alright," she promised.

"Why don't you go upstairs and sleep," Marius said. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

"I'm sorry... I failed," Jean said, as Marie hurriedly got up and started up the stairs.

"You didn't fail," she heard her father say before she closed her own bedroom door. "We'll get you through this."

Marie went back up to her bed, feeling absolutely numb. She clutched her pillow to her chest, and stared blankly into the darkness of her bedroom. Her parents were still awake, and she heard murmurings through the wall they shared.

Jean was in trouble, and she had missed it. It had slipped right by. She'd suspected a little, yes, but nothing like this.

That day at the cafe, he'd been meeting them. She was sure.

She should ask Jacques about this, Marie decided. He might know. He could explain it. Surely it wasn't as bad as her father thought it was?

Marie felt incredibly lonely. From the inside of her nightgown, she took out the ring Jacques had given her, and turned it over in her palm. It occurred to her how lonely she was, sleeping alone like this.

If her family had been poorer, she would share a room with her sisters. Just the sound of another person breathing in the room would be comforting. Her parents' voices in the next room were hardly a comfort; they were stressed and scared, not comforting. Usually her parents had a facade of calmness on for the children. She had seldom seen either of her parents lose control. She realized that, behind their bedroom door and in private, they could let that facade down. To each other, they did not need to act fearless.

Marie snuggled into her pillows. She missed Jacques- she had not seen him for three days, since he had come for dinner, and she felt a physical ache in his absence. She did not know how much she loved him, but it was clear now that he was gone. She missed him as if he had taken a piece of her with him. He longed for his easy, engaging smile, his sparkling blue eyes. He would reassure her, it was clear.

Marie realized that, if she married Jacques, they would share a room. They would have their own home to build, and at night, when she was afraid like this, she would simply have to turn over, and he would hold her through the night. She would have him for company, not just her loneliness.

Imagining his arms to be around her, Jacques' presence beside her, Marie finally fell asleep.

* * *

**Please, please, PLEASE review this! You don't know how much I enjoy reading your reviews! I haven't been getting many lately, and I appreciate them SO much.**

**There's more coming soon, don't worry! I have it all planned out. **

**Jacques will be back in the next chapter.**

**Thoughts?**


	10. Idyll

The next day, Marie sent a note first thing to Jacques telling him they had urgent family business and would not be able to have him for dinner that night. Still, at four o'clock, there was a knock at the door, and Nicolette saw Jacques into the parlor.

"We can't see him now," Cosette whispered to Marius. "Didn't Marie tell him we were busy?"

Marie walked up and saw her parents conversing in the entryway, coats on, Jean in tow. She knew they had a meeting with a lawyer that afternoon, and were obviously busy.

"What's happening?"

"Jacques is here," Marius said. "But we're leaving."

"He said he just had something fast to say to Mademoiselle, and then he'll be off," Nicolette reported. "He also said he wishes you well on whatever family troubles are detaining the Pontmercys."

"Thank you," Marius said, and deliberated. "Marie, you may see him."

Marie was surprised, but smiled. She kissed her brother's cheek and told him her prayers and thoughts were with him. She had not had a chance to talk to Jean yet- he'd slept almost the entire day, and when he woke, he had been dragged to their father's study for even more lecture. Marie could not imagine anything worse; though she loved her father dearly, he was very heavy-handed when it came to rules.

Marie left then, and Marius continued to Nicolette. "Keep a _very_ close eye," he advised. "I don't want then alone more than two minutes at a time- and I mean that quite literally."

"Not a very traditional courtship," Cosette tutted, but Marius shrugged.

"I think we lost the chance for that when they met for months without our knowledge," he informed her, and she nodded. "_Or_ a chaperone," he added bitterly.

Victoire wandered through, obviously on her way to the stairs and up to her bedroom, one of her stuffed dolls in hand.

"Vicki!" Marius said, very pleased to have caught her. "Monsieur Jacques is here. You liked him, didn't you?"

"Yes," Victoire said, confused.

"Why don't you run along and play with Catherine in the parlor? Marie and Monsieur Jacques are in there. They might tell you that they don't want you to play near them, but tell them Papa made you."

"Courfeyrac and Leon said they would play with me," Victoire whined. She didn't want to play with her boring older sister, who seldom had time for anything anymore but sighing and gazing out windows, when was actually getting attention from her brothers. "We were going to play zoo with my stuffed animals."

"Perfect," Cosette said, catching on quickly. "Bring them! Courfeyrac especially."

"Have a good time," Marius said, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "Remember: if they try to shoo you away, Maman and Papa said you _had_ to play in the parlor, and they are not to leave. Alright?"

"Yes, Papa," she said with a smile. With that, she flitted up the stairs to find her brothers, vanishing in a whip of golden hair.

"There," Marius said, steering Cosette and Jean out the door. "I can rest easy."

* * *

"Is everything alright?" Jacques said the minute Marie stepped through the door to the parlor.

"I missed you," she said, closing the space between them. He put his arms around her, and she buried her face against the column of his neck, the soft linen of his shirt familiar and comforting. "And no, everything is not all right. My brother is in a great deal of trouble."

Expecting a kiss to her hair and a reassuring word, she was surprised when he pulled back, his blue eyes wild with concern. "He is? What happened? Was he arrested?"

"Jacques," Marie started, caught off-guard, but was interrupted.

Nicolette came in, humming to herself and brandishing a tray of sugar and cream.

"I'll be bringing tea in just a minute," she said, and bustled out of the room.

Marie rolled her eyes.

"My father is not home," she explained. "Nor is my mother. I'm sure Nicolette is under instructions to leave us alone as little as possible."

"Marie," he said, not interested in petty issues. "Your brother- is it Jean who is in trouble?"

"Why, of course!" she said. "It certainly isn'tLeon, he's only ten."

"What happened?" he pressed.

Marie bit her lip. She had a heavy allegiance to Jacques of course- especially if she was going to be his wife- but she felt the weight of her brother's pride on her shoulders, and did not know how much she should say. But maybe Jacques knew something helpful.

"Here's your tea," Nicolette said, interrupting again. "Oh! I forgot the scones! The cook made scones this morning, Marie- have you had some? Pure Heaven! They're light as air. I'll be back in a moment."

"Of course," Marie whispered sarcastically. No sooner had one door swung shut then the door on the other side opened.

"We're not going to play some stupid, girly game," Courfeyrac's loud voice intruded. "I'm almost a man now and I'm tired of playing with _toys."_

"Yes, toys are hardly any fun,"Leonprotested, obviously just trying to fit in with his brother.

"But Catherine isn't a toy, she's family!" Victoire said, holding up her dear doll, the face worn from the constant holding.

"Aren't you getting a little old to be playing with toys?" Courfeyrac said meanly. "You're such a baby, Vicki!"

"_Don't!_" she protested.

It became clear that Marie could not let this continue. Shooting an apologetic look at Jacques, she stood.

"Courfeyrac, why do you have to pick on your sister?"

"I'm not picking on her," he said, shrugging.

"Why don't you go play somewhere else?" Marie suggested.

"You're not mother!" he said. "And I don't _play, _I'm almost a man!"

Marie rolled her eyes. "Of course you are."

"I don't know about that," Jacques said thoughtfully. "See, Victoire here is quite the lady. And aren't men supposed to be pleasant to ladies? Chivalrous?"

Victoire blushed furiously, but looked very pleased.

"I don't know," Courfeyrac said, embarrassed.

"Well, with sisters like you Pontmercy men have, one should use the ultimate respect," he finished.

Courfeyrac gaped.

"Now why don't you all play upstairs? Victoire, I'm sure Isabel will play with you," Marie said.

"Oh, she's coming down in a minute," Victoire said distractedly, already sprawled on the floor.

"Pardon?" Marie asked.

"Yes, we're all going to play in here," Victoire said, completely in her own little world now with Catherine.

Leon and Courfeyrac, with nothing better to do, started hitting each other.

Marie's middle sister drifted in then, a book covering her face. She looked up briefly, smiled at Jacques, and then sat on the couch on the other side of the room, completely absorbed.

"Well then," Marie said in a low voice to Jacques. "I don't think we can finish our conversation in here, can we? Why don't we go for a walk in the garden?"

"Papa said you can't," Victoire piped up. Marie rolled her eyes.

"Papa doesn't have to _know,_" she stipulated.

All four of her siblings looked up then, the room finally silent. Then Courfeyrac started to laugh.

"You will have to pay a hefty price to keep _all_ of us quiet, Marie," Courfeyrac said.

She knew it was true. "Fine. Just go busy yourselves, why don't you?" she snapped.

Her siblings went back to what they were doing- Isabel in her own world, Victoire quietly singing to herself and making up stories about her dolls,Leonand Courfeyrac wrestling on the floor.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you all of it here," she whispered to Jacques as Nicolette came in just to 'check on things.' "But soon, I will. But I want to talk about _us. _My family will have you over again- my father himself requested for you to come, which is a _very_ good thing."

"Just tell me something quick- was he arrested?" he pressed back to the old subject, looking very panicked.

Marie gave him a confused look. "Yes- I don't know why it matters so much to you, though."

"It just does," he said, not volunteering any information. Marie narrowed her eyes. "And I don't want your family in any trouble, for goodness' sake. I love you."

"I know," she relented then, dropping her suspicious attitude. "I've just missed you, like I said, and I've been worried about him. Don't worry though; my father will take care of it. I am sorry for whoever got him into this trouble though! They are the ones who should be frightened, not my Jean. But that's not important right now. What's important is this: I haven't seen you in almost a week!"

"I've missed you, too," he said, honestly, taking both her hands in his own. "But it's all for the best, isn't it? If we play by your father's rules, it's that much closer to when we can tell him."

"Tell him what?" Victoire asked.

Marie looked down, and saw to her displeasure that her sister had scooted her game up very close to them. Victoire was almost at the lovers' feet.

"Victoire, stop being a snoop," Marie dismissed.

"You aren't mother," Victoire said in a singsong voice. "I can do as I please around you."

"I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm simply telling you that you are a snoop, and I am requesting you to stop," Marie said very calmly.

"I almost forgot," Jacques said, reaching into his bag. "I brought something for you."

"You did not," Marie protested.

"It isn't anything special," he said, and produced a small book. "I just brought you this novel, I don't know if you've read it."

He handed it to Marie, and she looked down at the cover. It was called _Pride and Prejudice._

"I've heard a bit about it," she said. "But not much."

"It's an English book," he said, shrugging humbly. "I don't know. My mother read it and said she liked it, and she told me a little about it and I thought you might like to read it."

"I don't read novels, usually," she confessed.

"Just try it," he said. "If you don't like it, you don't like it."

"What book are you talking about?" Isabel piped up from across the room.

Marie held it up for her.

"I read that last year," she dismissed. "It's alright, I suppose."

Marie laughed. "She reads nonstop," she informed Jacques. "But novels and nice things. I read about-"

"Countries," he finished for her, eyes twinkling. "I know."

She smiled, and clutched the book to her.

* * *

Marie tentatively knocked on her brother's bedroom door that night.

"Come in," he said. She found Jean laying on top of the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Hello," she said softly, letting herself in.

"How much do you know?" he asked bitterly without preamble.

"I couldn't go back to sleep after you came home yesterday night," she confessed. "And Father was quite loud. So I heard everything."

"I figured as much. You had a guilty and sad look on your face whenever you looked at me all day," he complained.

"Sorry," she said, meaning it. "I know this must be hard. Papa's so mad."

"He's ridiculous," Jean said passionately. "I mean, I suppose what I did to get caught was bad, but that group... they aren't as bad as he thinks they are."

Marie's eyes widened. "Jean, don't go back to them. Don't. They aren't good for you! Father said not to and he knows more about it than you do- didn't you hear him? His friend _died._ That's his friend Courfeyrac-"

"I know, Marie!" Jean said, sharply. His sister checked. Jean, usually very kind and gentle, had spoke with venom and bite. "Don't tell me what's right and wrong! You have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"What do you mean?" Marie said, drawing herself up with dignity.

"Don't tell _me_ about associating with good people, Marie," he said angrily.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"_Jacques Fabre,_" he spat.

"What about him?" Marie asked, now very on edge.

"You think he's perfect, don't you? A _genius_?"

"Don't go off on me, now," Marie said, feeling the need to defend herself.

"You're wrong," Jean said simply. "He isn't. Well, not if you go by your original standards, anyway."

"You are making _no sense whatsoever!"_ Marie's fear had penetrated her voice, and her face was white.

"What, he hasn't told you?" Jean gave a cruel laugh. "He's the one who got me into this arrest in the first place! _He's_ the one who made me do it!"

* * *

**You know what I am going to say.**

**Reviews? PLEASE?**

**Make me happy? Please?**

**I love that you read my stories... I see the hits... And I would love to hear your thoughts even more!**


	11. Goodbye, Again

**Hi all! Sorry for the time off... life calls! Also, "Torn Apart" was not updated... I don't know why it got bumped. I went into the control panel for it, and for some reason it said it was updated. SORRY! No. But this one is! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"What ever do you mean?" Marie said, her voice choked.

"I mean what I said," Jean said, staring at the ceiling. "He's in this group. He's one of the leaders. He got me into it."

"No- you're lying," Marie said cruelly, though she already knew it was true. She's _seen_ Jacques at that cafe. She'd heard his frightened reaction when he heard about Jean's arrest. "He's not like that. He's never even _talked_ to me about politics- and if he knew you, he'd say-"

"No, not if we both decided not to tell you!" Jean said, sitting up. "You heard me say that none of us know each other's names. It's true; at least until he saw me outside that cafe, and he knew I was Pontmercy. He never mentioned it to me, though. Then you invited him for dinner, and I knew who _he_ was. That night at the meeting-"

"You had a meeting that_ night?"_ Marie asked, trying to piece the sequence together.

"Yes, just listen, won't you? We decided not to tell you that we knew each other. Bad idea, we didn't want you involved."

"Well, don't bother trying to keep me out," Marie said bitterly. "I want nothing to do with this!"

She was halfway to the door when she stopped. Without turning around, she asked, "Why didn't you give him away to Maman and Papa?"

Jean didn't answer for a long time. Marie was tempted to turn around, but did not.

"You didn't need to get in trouble, too," he said simply.

Marie nodded, and left.

* * *

Marie received a note from Jacques the next day. He calmly asked her if she and her father- or anyone from their family, all were welcome- would like to come to his mother's home for dinner the following evening. Marie was tempted to rip the note without replying, but she remembered she had nothing against his mother. She penned a cool reply, and declined.

The next day she received another note. Had he done something to offend her?

And the toxic: How was her brother?

_He should know,_ Marie thought bitterly. _He is the one who got him into this mess! He's the one who lied to me this whole time!_

For two weeks, she ignored his notes, which came more and more frequently. Her father noticed, but seemed smug about it.

Marie over heard him say to her mother: "I told you. She's young- he's still head over heels for her, and she has already turned her back on him. I knew she'd recover."

Victoire, who had become very taken with Jacques, asked about him. Marie told her to stick her nose somewhere else. When her mother asked gently why she did not reply to Jacques' notes or extend another dinner invitation, Marie informed them that she'd been wrong about him. He was not the kind of man she thought he was.

In a flight of vengeance three weeks into receiving the letters, she returned his ring in an envelope. Maybe he would understand then.

* * *

"Gravitte is a very good friend of mine," Marius promised his son. "You are in the best of hands. Just tell them what you've told us- you were young, you were pushed into it. You might have to do some service, we'll pay a fine, it will be behind us, it won't be on your record. But keep in mind, Jean, _I_ have not forgotten."

Marie left the room then, bored with her father's constant lecturing. It was obvious he was torn between love and protectiveness for his family, and anger toward his son. He would make sure his son did not have to pay for this for his whole life, but it was clear he was ashamed of what his son had done. Her mother, on the other hand, was just upset that Jean had to face this.

She opened the door to the garden, trying to block the memories and images of Jacques that came into her mind when she walked among the flowers. It was nearing August, and Marie could not stay outside very long. The muggy heat and the burning sun made her sweat, and no paper fan could relieve her from that. The heavy cotton of her dress, which was supposed to be light, casual, and cool, just made her burn. But sometimes fresh air is necessary, and it was one of those times.

"Marie!" She heard a voice whisper.

Whipping around, Marie found the source of the voice. Her face darkened immediately. Jacques was in front of the gate, his hands gripping the bars.

She glared at him, and turned to go back into the house.

"No- don't go yet!" he pleaded. "Please let me explain-"

"What could you possibly explain?" Marie hissed across the garden at him, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was looking through the windows. The sun was bright, though, and she could not see inside. Not that it mattered; her family was not the one who protested against Jacques. She was.

"Just let me talk to you," he begged.

Marie held herself up very straight and looked at him, deliberating. Finally, she sighed, groaning, and walked over to the gate.

"What? Be quick about it," she said pertly.

"I know you much know by now all about what happened with Jean, and with the brothers-"

"The _who_?" Marie spat, though she already knew.

"The Brothers of Freedom. Our group."

"That's a stupid name," Marie said cruelly.

"I didn't think of it," he said, but moved on. "I know you must hate me. But really, it wasn't my fault-"

"I really don't need to hear this," Marie said. "You do know my brother is _sixteen,_ don't you? You- you _disgust_ me," she said regally, her eyes narrow and cold, sharp as onyx.

"Marie!" he protested, his blue eyes looking desperate as started to walk away.

"Don't come here again," she said, her throat tight. "Don't. You lied to me, Jacques, and lied to my brother, and led him into danger. He's still just a boy, no matter what he says. And you did this _knowing _me, and you didn't even..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Goodbye, Jacques."

Turning, Marie tried to keep her shoulders straight and proud as she walked into the house. The telltale burn in her eyes began, and she rushed up the stairs to her room, shutting the door before anyone followed her in.

She'd said goodbye to Jacques, it was true. She did not regret her decision; her family came first, and he could not be a suitable husband if he'd lied to her over something of this magnitude. But that did not mean that she never loved him, or that she did not still love him.

* * *

**Thoughts? More coming soon, don't worry.**


	12. Isabel

Marie did not see Jacques again, or even hear from him. It seemed he was quite gone. Marie sulked for awhile, before shutting him to the back of her mind entirely. If he'd lied to her and put her brother in danger, she was better off without him.

Jean was granted a pardon, and all was as it was before, except her father kept a much closer watch on all of them. Many nights Marie would rouse after having a dream about Jacques and lie awake, trying to beat away the dreaded, lingering sadness that filled her like a drop of dye in water. On nights like this, Marie heard her father rising out of bed around one in the morning, checking to make sure she and Jean were in bed. Her mother still checked on Victoire sometimes, but only when the little girl was having nightmares. Overall they hadn't been looked in on when sleeping since they were quite young. It was obvious that she and her brother had set her father's suspicions off.

September came, and then October, and the beautiful trees outside Marie's windows turned orange and gold and the air turned crisp and cool. It was almost impossible for her to reconcile the fact that she had once met a young man, a young man she loved, beneath those very trees. Jacques belonged with spring, summer... Though it was cold when they first began meeting, it was a budding spring cold; life was springing up all about, and as was their love. In the fall, when trees and plants were dying all about, she could not even imagine she had once been in love.

Or so she said. Whenever she started to forget him, he would emerge once more in her dreams, his blue eyes humorous and kind and loving. He would take her hand and listen to her, and make her feeling wanted and like a woman, not like an upper-class girl in her father's home. With Jacques, Marie had been a woman: she was not special because she was the daughter of a Baron and one of the most famous lawyers in Paris. But she was special because she was _his._

And now, she was not.

* * *

One day in late November, Jacques was idling after a class, eating a piece of bread for lunch. He was sitting on one of the more shallow banks of the Seine, one leg dangling over the stone wall, hanging above the river, which was steely and threatening on the nearly winter's day. It had snowed recently, making the river near to overflowing with dangerous water. His back was pressed against a parapet. With the kind of mellow calm one gets only when they are completely alone and not expecting to be disturbed, Jacques watched the people.

There was a bakery nearby, as well as a stand selling flowers. The poor man could not be making much; most of the flowers were dying now. He had a few measly picks, but not many prospects. People rushed about, bundled against the cold. It was a cloudy day, and there was a strong wind. Women's shawls blew about, strands of their hair escaping their fastenings and following the gusts.

Jacques tugged his coat tighter around himself, and finished the last of his bread as he watched a young girl several meters away. Her back was to him, and he watched her look over the side of theSeine, kneeling on the bank. She was very small, and looked about ten or so. She was bundled up adorably, with a thick hat on her head and a wool skirt on, looking bulky and sweet. Her mother must have taken care to keep her warm.

Jacques looked about, but didn't see anyone watching her, which was odd. The girl continued to look over the side of the bank, and Jacques felt himself unconsciously leaning forward toward her as she leaned forward toward the river.

He knew what would happen a second before it did. The girl leaned over, looking down into the water, and Jacques watched her pass an invisible point of no return, and begin the flail. He reached his arms out as if he could catch her, but she was too far away. He saw her fall into the water slowly, as if his mind was delaying it. She fell into the bank, until she hit the water with a small splash.

She gave a small cry, but it was lost in the rush of the river and the bustle of the street. She was so small that the current was already pushing her little body downstream.

"No!" Jacques said, swearing and running to where she'd fallen. He looked down and saw her thrashing about in the water, coughing, her heavy warm clothes tugging her down. She was just a child, and she obviously could not swim. Parents never taught girls to swim, thinking it improper, despite the dangers it caused.

He hoped the girl's father or someone had seen- he really did not want to dive in after her. But as he looked about, he saw that the only person who seemed to have noticed the girl was an old woman. Her face was white, and her eyes locked with Jacques'.

He swore once more, knowing what he had to do. He kicked his boots off and took his coat off, leaving it on the bank. If it wasn't stolen- damned horrible thing to do, to steal someone's coat when they save a girl from a river- he would need it when he got out.

He did not let himself think too long about the horrible cold. The girl was losing strength now, and he needed to move fast. He climbed up onto the bank, catching many more people's attention. Taking a deep breath and trying to brace himself, Jacques jumped.

His muscles ached as if they were burned! The river was surely cold enough to be ice. He could barely swim, for his arms would not move. But he willed himself on, kicking through the pain until he reached the girl. He reached out and somewhat roughly took her by the tiny waist. She was coughing, and could hardly breathe.

"Isabel?" Jacques said, shocked and for a moment forgetting the cold. He was holding Isabel Pontmercy in his arms; she was thirteen, but so small he'd mistaken her for younger. She did not respond, just wrapped her tiny arms around her savior's neck, unable to swim anymore.

"Isabel?" he heard a cry from the bank of the Seine. "_Isabel!"_

Jacques looked up and saw Jean Pontmercy, face white as a sheet, leaning over the bank, watching his sister. He turned and got down onto his stomach on the bank, leaning his hand down for Jacques.

It was a lucky thing she'd fallen on a shallow bank. Jacques was able to grip Jean's hand, and was pulled up enough to get his hands on the bank and hoist Isabel and himself up.

The air was worse than the cold, and the wind drove him almost to madness. He felt the chill to his very bones, and was shaking like a madman the moment he stepped out.

"Oh, God- Isabel," Jean was saying already. He removed the soaking hat and scarf and coat from the girl, knowing that the extra wet things were only doing her worse. He was a big fellow, and took his coat off, wrapping it around the tiny girl. His gloves came off next, and he stuffed her hands in them.

The poor little girl was blue and stiff. Jacques started to panic- Marie had said she was sickly, and weak. What if she died?

Jean took his sister in his arms then, and stood tall.

"Jacques- I don't know how to thank you-"

"Here," a voice said, and it was the old woman he'd seen earlier. She gave him his coat, as well as a blanket.

"Thank you," Jacques said, shocked at her kindness. He turned back to Jean, his teeth chattering. "Just get her home- I have to get inside somewhere. Go!"

He watched Jean run off into a fiacre, and then Jacques went into the bakery and asked to sit by the fire. He had some money, and the man behind the counter gave him hot tea to warm his hands. After an hour or so, Jacques went back outside and took a cab to his apartment, where he changed into dry clothes and hung the wet ones up to dry. He rumpled his hair, trying to get the last of the water out of it.

He was chilled awfully, but he would be alright. He moved his bed nearer to the fire and got inside of it, thick socks on his feet, and put an extra blanket on, trying to get warm. He'd been in the water not even half the time Isabel had, and he was a strong, full-grown young man who was very healthy. Isabel was a child, and a weak child at that.

* * *

A few hours later when he was feeling warmer, he went over to the Pontmercys. Basque answered the door and showed him into the living room to wait.

"I'm just hear to inquire about Mademoiselle Isabel," he informed.

"I know," Basque said, "But I am sure the Monsieur le Baron and Madame le Baroness would like to speak with you themselves. May I offer you anything to eat or drink?"

Jean declined, but went and sat by the fire again, still feeling chilled, and asked not to give up his coat.

He waited a minute before the door opened. Rising, he saw Marie's mother, unaccompanied.

"Monsieur Fabre," she said, her eyes sad and gracious and beautiful. She walked briskly, regally, and Jacques was hit with a sense of amazement. Marie's mother was surely a Queen, not a Baroness. She stood close enough to him so he could smell her perfume, and then gripped his hands. "_Thank you. _I don't know what I or my husband could do to thank you."

He shook his head. "Please, Madame... I just would like to know how Mademoiselle Isabel is doing."

Cosette looked down. "She is very chilled. My husband is with her now; he will come and talk to you later, if you can stay for a minute."

Jacques gulped, but nodded. He was not sure how much Jean had told- was it just Marie who knew, or the entire Pontmercy family?

"A doctor came, but the best we can do is just keep her warm. She is already coughing, and we are just hoping it is not pneumonia." Cosette shook her head briskly, as if shaking off the thought. "I just think- if you had not seen! Thank the good God for you, Jacques, because I would not have my girl if not for you."

"Really, I..."

"No," Cosette said, and would not let him deflect her gratitude. "Are you alright? You were in the same freezing water as she!"

"Healthy as a horse," he said sportingly. "I am perfectly well, Madame. Thank you for asking."

The door behind them opened, and Jean came in.

"Oh, God," he moaned without further greeting. "I did not see! I was buying bread in the bakery for my mother and she went out, saying she wanted to look at the flowers and I was inside when she fell... I called out and then I saw you two in the water... You must think I am an idiot, and I horrible, horrible brother. I would have jumped in, you did not have to- I would have."

Jacques smiled, understanding Jean's need to be the protector. He would have felt the same if Sophie was hurt under his watch. "I did not have a choice. I saw a girl fall- I did not recognize Isabel from far away- and no one else did. What else could I do?"

"Again, Monsieur," Cosette said, her eyes tearful. "I cannot even express my thanks."

The door opened again, and Jacques looked through it hopefully, but it was Monsieur Pontmercy, not Marie, who came through. He walked up to his wife, touched her elbow and said something to her softly, and then Cosette nodded.

"I'll go back upstairs to sit with her," Cosette said. She walked up to Jacques and kissed his cheek. "You are always welcome here," she said afterward, and left with a grace he had not ever encountered. Marie was not that graceful- Marie walked into a room and a person noticed because she looked as though she had something important to accomplish. Her mother walked about and breathed beauty and kindness and grace. It was not a learned skill.

Marius nodded to his son, who left the room then as well. Then he gestured to Jacques to take a seat.

_Did he need to be so intimidating?_

"Monsieur Fabre," Monsieur Pontmercy said after they had sat down. "I do not pretend to know what happened between you and Marie-"

Jacques breathed out more easily- so she and Jean had not told her family!

"But I do know that from start to finish, it was not a proper courtship."

Jacques stiffened again.

"However, when the rest of my family met you, you impressed both my wife and I by your straightforward attitude. Though it would have been preferable for that quality to have been present since the beginning, we were very impressed with you. Then, somehow, you disappeared."

"Monsieur," Jacques said, choosing his words carefully. He knew how Marie was very much her father's daughter- more than the other children- so he did not want to sound blameful, but he wanted to make his intentions clear. "That was not my wish. But I was not going to stay after your daughter asked me to go."

Marius looked at him for a long time, as if trying to process this. Then, he shrugged dismissively. Jacques furrowed his brow. That was hardly a reaction that seemed to value what he'd said.

"Well, what's done is done. More importantly, what you did today for my family means everything to me." He leaned in, and his eyes actually lost their guard. For the first time, Jacques felt like Monsieur Pontmercy was being personal with him. "As my wife said, you are welcome here at any time. What happened between you and Marie is irrelevant. You saved my Isabel's life, and so you must understand that I owe you everything."

_That is doubtful, _Jacques said, thinking about how Monsieur Pontmercy would view him if he found out what his relationship with Jean had been, or why Marie was not speaking to him now. But he kept silent, thinking himself a coward the whole time for taking the praise he did not deserve.

"The least we can do is invite you for dinner soon. I'm sorry, not until we know if Isabel is very sick or not," he added. "But is there anything I can do for you?"

Jacques stiffened- he respected Monsieur Pontmercy's achievements as a lawyer and his home life. He thought he treated his family with upmost protection and loyalty and care, but that did not mean he respected his politics or his money. And that was what he was being offered.

"No, thank you," he said somewhat coldly.

Monsieur Pontmercy understood, and looked ashamed. Jacques did now know enough about Marius to know that he was the last person in the world to want to be the kind of man who threw money around like it was the most important thing in the world.

"I apologize, I did not mean to insult you. But if you do need anything, especially if you are at all sick, let me know."

"Thank you, that is very gracious," Jacques said politely, but without much warmth.

"I'm sure you will hear from my family again soon," Monsieur Pontmercy said, and led Jacques to the door.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **

**Oh. And Cosette is a MILF. In Jacques' opinion... so a MJLF.**


	13. Stress

It was not more than a week before Jacques got the invitation to dine with the Pontmercys. His welcome was very different this time. Both Monsieur and Madame met him at the door, and greeted him incredibly graciously. After he'd given his coat, Victoire came around the corner, beaming.

"Monsieur! We haven't seen you in _ages!_" she exclaimed, and then took his hand and led him into the house.

Marius watched his youngest daughter chatter away, blinking her eyes and fluttering her lashes, in absolute horror.

"Cosette, what is she _doing?_" he whispered.

Cosette was not quite as surprised. "Coquetry," she murmured.

"She's _nine,_" Marius growled.

"She's the youngest," Cosette said by way of explanation as they followed Victoire and Jacques into the living room. "She'll grow up faster."

They reached the living room, where the rest of the children were. Isabel went up to Jacques next, face red as a beet.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Monsieur," she said, unable to look at him. "I am not usually so scatter-brained, please forgive me."

"It was a pleasure," he said good-naturedly, smiling at her. "How have you been getting on?"

She blushed, if possible, even more. "I've had a bit of a cold, but I'm fine."

Jacques looked about the room, and saw a very steely Marie, and a very quiet Jean. Wanting to avoid that situation, he turned back to Isabel and asked her what she was reading. Isabel looked positively delighted.

"It seems each of the Pontmercys girls will have their own infatuation with Jacques Fabre," Cosette observed in a low tone. Marius grimaced. "Well, you can hardly blame Isabel, can you? If _I_ was thirteen and a handsome young man rescued _me, _I think I would be quite overcome."

"That's true," Marius said, full of regret. "At least there's nothing to worry about, with those girls."

"No, no, it's harmless. Marie, though..." Cosette said.

"I know," Marius said with a sigh. "She says she's done with him, and that she doesn't love him anymore, but why would she still not be speaking to him? It seems that if she was truly done with him, she wouldn't care two hoots about him. The performance she put up when she found out we invited him?"

"I know," Cosette said, eyebrows raised, remembering. When they informed the children that Jacques would be coming for dinner the following evening, Isabel had turned red, Victoire and Leon had gotten excited, Courfeyrac didn't seem to care much, Jean had gotten quiet, and Marie had protested.

"You _didn't!"_ she said very loudly, unlike her.

"Of course we did!" her mother said. "After what he did for your sister it's the least we could do!"

"But... but..." Marie said, "But after what happened with me, I can't see him!"

"What happened with you?" Marius asked. "Did he hurt you or do something I should know about?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Marie dismissed. "But I don't want to talk to him, don't you understand?"

"Yes, I do," Cosette said. "But you are going to have to, and you are going to be polite, Marie."

She'd continued to protest for twenty minutes before Marius put his foot down, and she went, angry and muttering about how terribly unfair it was, to her room.

It was clear Jacques was not well appreciated with the older Pontmercy children. Marie was civil, but icy as a January night.

"Hello, Monsieur," she said, tight lipped. It clutched at his heart to see her like that, calmly nodding toward him- had she forgotten that she loved him? Had she ever really loved him?

Clearly not; if she had, she would surely have been civil. He had treated her well, hadn't he? She had every right to be angry with him now, he supposed. But she did not have the information! She did not know what she was talking about.

For the entire night, neither Jean nor Marie spoke to him, despite how polite Jacques was. He understood, though he was disappointed. Jean, especially: he'd gotten the young man into terrible trouble, so it made sense for him to be angry. Marie... well, he had lied to her. She had every right to be upset. He wished he knew her well enough to know how to make it better.

It felt dishonest to be accepting the Pontmercy's hospitality when he had gotten their son into trouble with the law, but it meant he could spend more time with Marie. He had also started to like the rest of the family- the children were charming, Monsieur Pontmercy (once he had resigned himself to being kind of Jacques) was a very interesting man to talk to, and Madame Pontmercy was... well... wonderful.

On his way, Monsieur and Madame invited he and his mother and sister to their Christmas party in the middle of December. He accepted on the spot, despite that not being the best etiquette.

* * *

"Marc!" Jacques interrupted; it was nearly two in the morning and he wanted to go home. "I really think we're about done here."

"We're not," the leader said, turning his passionate, icy eyes onto Jacques. "We're still picking up the pieces from when that kid got caught. We can't hardly go anywhere, they all know who we are."

"Maybe it's best. We should lie low for awhile," Jacques said, rubbing his temple.

"Does change come about from lying low?" Marc said cruelly.

Jacques sometimes truly hated the other leader of their group. The knew each other's first names, but nothing more, and no one knew anything about anyone else. But that was the way Marc operated, and he used brute force on everything he did.

"I am going home," Jacques said sternly, taking his coat with him and wrapping his scarf around his neck. "I'll be back tomorrow. And about that kid- maybe we should know a little about people we get involved with," Jacques said. "At least their age. He was only sixteen."

"You came to me when you were sixteen," Marc snapped.

"I needed a job," Jacques said. "My father had died and I needed a job. I didn't exactly want to get roped into this group."

Marc drew himself up, glaring at Jacques. He looked at the younger man for a very long time. "Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want out?"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Are you suddenly scared of getting caught? Well if you want to run, be my guest, Jacques. But never come back. Never ask me for anything again."

"Look, I have to go," Jacques said, glaring. "I'll see you tomorrow."


	14. Rebelling

The next evening, there was a knock on Marie's bedroom door.

"Come in," she said, turning to face her visitor from her vanity. It was Isabel. "Hello. What is it?"

"I was just wondering if you've finished reading _Jane Eyre_ yet," Isabel said. "Because I'd like to borrow it."

"I haven't even started."

"Why? It's good!"

"Why do you want it?" Marie asked. "You've already read it!"

"I like to read things twice sometimes. But really, this is sad. You received a gift from a handsome young man and you don't even _look_ at it? That's so ungrateful! If a boy ever gave me a gift, I surely would not ignore it-"

"Oh, hush, Isabel," Marie said, taken aback. "Don't talk like that. It's highly desperate sounding, and it's not ladylike at all."

"I don't have to be a lady around you, you're my sister," Isabel reasoned.

Marie rolled her eyes. "Fine. I shall read it. Does that make you happy?"

"Yes," Isabel said, smiling. "It does. Tell me what you think-"

"Yes, yes! Now leave me alone!" Marie pleaded. Isabel scowled, but let herself out.

Marie did not really intend to read the book; she was trying to get Isabel to leave her alone. Yet she could at least look at it, couldn't she? It seemed she would have to. Marie got up from the seat at the vanity and walked over to her bed, and opened the top drawer of the small dresser next to it. Underneath a diary she never wrote in and Jacques' letter, she found _Jane Eyre._

Plopping onto the bed, she opened the book. The spine cracked satisfactorily, and it occurred to Marie that she'd never even read the book. It became clear when she saw this scrawled on the inside cover.

_Elizabeth__ reminds me of you. Tell me how you like this! Maybe you and my mother can talk about it someday, it's her favorite. _

_Enjoy the book, Marie._

She shook away the empty feeling that crept up when she saw his handwriting, and sat beck on her stiff pillows, and started to read.

* * *

Jacques was nervous when he entered the cafe again the following day. He did not know how he'd be received, considering his less-than-friendly parting with Marc the previous day. His fears were not addressed; he was not greeted warmly, but he was not thrown out either. Instead Marc gave him a curt, disinterested nod, and continued his discussion with a young man.

Jean Pontmercy.

Jacques stormed over to the two, and promptly began trying to drag Jean away.

"Hello there. Might I speak to you a moment?" he asked Jean.

"No, I want to speak to you alone," Marc said, dismissing the boy, his cold, light blue eyes cruel when they smiled at him.

"I just need to talk to him for a minute-"

"I said I wanted to talk to you. I am the leader of this group, am I not?"

_We were supposed to be leaders together,_ Jacques thought, his stomach dropping. He knew it was only a matter of time before Marc took over. Over the past few months, he'd grown more and more in control of the group. He commanded more cloak-and-dagger operations, more underground information, more lawbreaking and less and less camaraderie.

"That boy is _sixteen,_" Jacques said with venom. "He does not belong here!"

"It is impossible to be too young to respect justice," Marc said. "After we talked last night, I realized our group has been taking the wrong turn. There seems to be a misconception about the way we should be treating our members, and how easily we should let them go. I got Jean back. We need him."

"We need nothing from him," Jacques argued.

"How wrong you are. He has all of our information! Do you know who his father is?"

"How do _you_ know who his father is?" Jacques asked, turning pale.

"I did some research," he said coolly. "How hard do you think it is to find the police blotter? The kind of lawyers that kid had- it was all to easy to find out."

"What do you want to do with him?"

"Well, he can't be out and about with all of our information, surrounded by the people he's surrounded by. We needed him back on our side."

"If you harm his family-" Jacques began threateningly, but was cut off.

"Who said anything about harm?" he smiled.

"This is not right," Jacques said, walking away from Marc.

"Then try to leave! Just try!" Marc said, laughing.

"Jean," Jacques said, taking the boy's arm and leading him into a corner of the cafe. "You should not be here. You know that! How did he find you?"

"That's not your business," Jean said coldly.

"You are a _boy,_" Jacques said. "You know nothing about this-"

Jean wrenched his arm away from Jacques' grip, stung. "I am smart enough to know that I can make my own choices! And who are you to tell me anything? You're not that much older than I am! I'm much more highly educated already! How dare you tell me that I don't know anything? You only want to get me in trouble because you're angry that Marie won't speak to you anymore-"

"Shut up," Jacques spat. "Don't start sounding like an indulged rich boy, it's not becoming. I'm telling you, as someone who has more experience than you, that you need to _get out._"

"I'll do what I like, try and stop me," Jean said.

"Oh, I will," Jacques said. "Marc knows where you live now, doesn't he?"

Jean did not answer.

"Do you know how stupid that is? Your father is one of the most highly recognized lawyers in Paris, and you lead Marc to your _home?_ You realize you are only an asset because your father is a target? Did you think about him and his safety when you came here tonight? Your mother? Your sisters and brothers-"

"_Stop!"_ Jean yelled, pushing him away. "You don't know anything about it! I didn't exactly have a choice, you know. But like I said before, it's not your business."

"You can stop them from hurting your family," Jacques said. "You can stop it right now. You have to tell your father, though."

"Well, I'm not going to do that," Jean said, but his eyes were fearful.

"If it comes down to your family," Jacques said coldly. "I will. I _will_ tell your father. And I will not hesitate. But wouldn't you rather do it yourself than have someone tattle on you?"

Jean did not answer. Instead he just pushed past Jacques, and walked away.

Jacques was not ready to give up. He turned and walked back to Marc.

"We need to finish this," Jacques said.

"I agree," Marc said with a grin. "Let's put it right on the table. You are either with us, or against us. Which is it?"

"It does not have to be that way!" Jacques said. "I only want to keep some people safe. See, our cause does not have to harm anyone, don't you understand? Innocent families have nothing to do with us! It _does not have to be this way._"

"I think it does," Marc said. "When rich bourgeoisie get involved, and their children dabble where they shouldn't, we cannot just allow that to happen and let ourselves be put at risk. Now, I will ask you again. Are you with us, or against us?"

* * *

"Psst! Marie!" Jacques called through the garden gate. It was perhaps the most unintelligent decision he'd ever made; she was not speaking to him, so she was scarcely going to invite him into her garden.

"Who's there?" Her voice rang out clear and loud through the garden. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

"It's Jacques!"

"Jacques?" she asked, confusion in her voice, and then hesitated for a long time. Long enough for Jacques to wonder if she was trying to place his name. Long enough to agonize over the fact that she might not know him by his first name!

Finally, she spoke. "Go away," she said. "Leave me. I don't want to talk to you."

"No, Marie, you have to-"

"I do not have to." He could not see her yet, he could just hear her voice through the darkness. "I don't have to do anything you tell me to. I'll scream if you don't leave me."

"It's about your family! I'm worried they're in danger!" he said, and then bit his lip, hoping against hope she would listen this time,

After a very long silence, footsteps cut through the garden. Marie came up to him, and unlocked the gate. He could not see her yet, just her dark shape. She led him into the garden.

"What is it? Make it quick, please," she said tersely, and sat down on the bench. She slowly took a matchbook from the pocket of her skirt and ignited it, so she could light the lamp next to her.

She never got to that step, though, for the match illuminated Jacques' face. His eye was blackened, and there was a slash bleeding on his cheek. A dark, purple bruise covered on side of his face. His clothes were torn, and bloody.

The match went out when she, terrified, dropped it onto the stone cobblestones beneath her feet.

"Jacques," she asked, panicked. "What happened to you?"

* * *

**Reviews?**


	15. Flight

Marie's jaw dropped when she saw Jacques, and demanded he tell her what was wrong.

"It's your brother," he said. "And my group."

"The Sons of Freedom?"

"Brothers," he said, but continued. "Anyway. He came back, because the leader found out his name and tracked him down. He found out where your family lives-"

"How? We're unlisted-"

"I have no idea," Jacques said. "I told him they couldn't use your brother anymore. Jean wouldn't listen to me, I tried to talk to him, but he was insulted. He didn't want to be told he was too young to do something. But Marc, the leader, said I had to choose. I told him he could not hurt your family."

"What did he say?"

Jacques gulped. "He said he could not be comfortable with your father knowing details about the group. Which is why he got Jean to come back, so he could find a way to your family."

"No," Marie said, putting a hand over her mouth.

"So I tried to leave. But they wouldn't let me go without a fight, so-"

"Where is Jean?"

"He was still at the cafe when I left. I don't know where he is now."

"Come inside," Marie said, standing up and taking his hand. "We need to dress your wounds."

"Alright," he said, and followed her in. It was after midnight, and the house was asleep. Marie knocked on the door to Nicolette's quarters and then ran upstairs to wake her parents.

She returned a minute later, as Nicolette came out of her rooms with some wet linen cloths to clean his cuts and bandages.

"My parents are coming," Marie said, her eyes wide and worried in the candlelight. "I just woke them."

"Why were you out in the garden?" Jacques asked. "It's cold outside. I thought I was going to have to knock on your windows, to wake you up."

"I was busy thinking," she said, not looking at him. Instead she patted some ice on his bruised eye, gently soothing his wounds. "I read _Jane Eyre."_

_"_You did?" he asked. "What did you think?"

"I thought it was good," she mused. "But both Lizzy and Darcy were very daft. They let so much get in the way of the fact that they loved each other. I thought one of them would get wise, but they didn't seem to."

"Until the end," Jacques said. He looked at her, trying to see whether she would realize anything about what she was saying, but she didn't. He chuckled.

"What?" she asked, bothered at his laughter.

"You have a brilliant mind, Marie," Jacques said, "when it comes to facts and figures and ideas. But as you told me once, you are not very reflective."

"Pardon? I don't understand."

"Every day, after that day you saw me out and said goodbye, I hoped you would read that book. I hoped it would make you realize something. But it seems it didn't. Marie; don't you understand?"

She froze up and grew very still, her mouth grimacing. "What is it you are trying to say?"

"I am trying to say that you are missing something important. Lizzy and Darcy let so much get in the way of the fact that they loved each other- I love you Marie. We shouldn't let something ruin that."

She glared at him. "I think it's completely inappropriate for you to talk to me that way. Besides, I didn't let something trivial ruin things for us. You ruined things yourself. You lied to me. You hurt my family."

Her words stung, but they were true. "I know. Marie, if I could change anything that I've done in my life, it would be that. Believe me."

She said nothing, and their conversation was ended when her parents came into the room.

He repeated his story again, and then Marie's father asked the address of the place.

"You're going there?" Marie asked, eyes wide. "Papa? They might hurt you!"

"Marie, I have to go. They have my son. I don't have a choice."

"It may well turn into a full-fledged fight," Madame Pontmercy said, looking upset, but torn. She wanted her son home and safe, but she also wanted her husband.

"Would it be more prudent to go to the police?" Marie asked.

"Yes," Marius said. "Jacques, would you come with me? You should tell the police about it, if you're willing to help. I can make sure you don't get into any trouble."

Jacques once would have been torn, but not anymore. He'd realized that these people were not at all his friends. If they were going to hurt the Pontmercys, they were going to hurt Marie, and he was going to stop them, no matter what. Marie, little Victoire and Isabel and Courfeyrac, her brother Leon... they could not be harmed.

"He can't go," Marie said, feeling suddenly protective. For some reason that she did not want to think about, she did not want Jacques taken from her in that moment. She tightened her grip on his arm. "He's hurt! What if they hurt him again?"

Her parents and Jacques all turned to her, slightly astonished. Jacques' eyes grew bright in a way that infuriated her.

"I just mean- oh, you all know what I mean," she said, turning brilliantly red. "Fine, go. Just be careful, both of you."

They left a minute later, leaving Marie and her mother to camp out in the living room to wait the night out.

"This is torture," Marie said. "Poor Jean... why would he go back?"

Cosette did not answer. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Maybe he just wanted to be part of something," Marie reasoned. "But it's so frightening. How could he do something so stupid? Maman, what if he gets hurt?"

"Don't," Cosette said. She put her arm around her daughter and held her close, feeling her soft, dark hair, and trying desperately not to think about her other child, her boy, with a group of people who wanted to hurt him.

"Your father will fix everything," Cosette said, sounding unsure. "It will all be alright."

Marie waited with her mother for a very long time, until Cosette went upstairs and changed out of his nightgown and into a regular dress. She came back downstairs and suggested she and Marie make something for breakfast.

"It's not even five in the morning yet," Marie protested.

"Yes, but Nicolette went back to sleep and I'm not going to wake her, and I am hungry. I'm not usually up like this... I need something to busy myself with."

Marie agreed, though she was not sure she could eat. Her mother was the type who always enjoyed being busy and was always practical. Loss of appetite did not strike her.

Cosette got out a complicated recipe for quiche and some pastries, which would take a long time to make.

"Best keep our hands busy, right Marie?" Cosette asked, a falsely chipper attitude on.

They had just taken their quiche out of the oven when the key scraped in the lock.

"Father?" Marie asked before he had even come in properly. Jacques followed him, as did Jean. "Are you-"

"We have to go," Marius said quickly. "I've called the police, but they are sure to come here-"

"What happened?" Marie asked.

"We'll tell you on the way. Marie, go get your sisters out. Cosette, could you pack some clothes? Jean, get the boys. I'll go talk to Nicolette and Basque and the Porter."

"How can I help?" Jacques asked Marius while he watched the other Pontmercys run up the stairs.

"Stay here, please. Make sure no one has followed us home."

"Yes."

A few minutes later, and the Pontmercys were in their family carriage. The littler ones were frightened, but Cosette tried to assure them it would be an adventure. Marius whispered a hurried explanation to Cosette, but would not say it all so as not to frighten the other children.

"Jacques, please tell me what's happening," Marie said when she piled into the carriage and sat next to him.

"Your father and I went to the cafe, and it was in tumult- they did not want to see me back, and your father was clearly not welcome. Some people ran, but others stayed. People were yelling, but that wasn't what was frightening... it was Marc. It was clear that your father aggravated him, by coming... and now we're worried he was going to come and retaliate-"

"Who is this man?" Marie asked.

"He's a manipulative leader," Jacques explained. "He has his vision of how things should be, and he's willing to do almost anything to make sure that happens."

She shivered. "Where are we going?"

"My mother's," Jacques said. "They have no idea where I live. When my father was dying, he changed the will of the house so it rested under my mother's maiden name. That way no one could take advantage of her or try to take it away since he was gone. It's rightfully in her name. But that way, even if anyone in the group knew my last name, they won't find the house."

"I hope not," Marie said.

"You'll be fine," he assured her. "Nothing is going to happen to you."

"What about Jean?" Marie pressed.

"I think it's a lot bigger than Jean, now," Jacques said. He turned and looked out at the waking city. People were just starting to open their shutters and curtains and to light their fires. It was surreal; he was exhausted, and the day had only just begun. He shook his head and took Marie's hand.


	16. New Beginnings

*****Correction. I am an idiot and kept typing **_**Jane Eyre**_** rather than **_**Pride and Prejudice,**_** while DEFINITELY MEANING **_**Pride and Prejudice. **_**I promise I am not that dumb, I know the different between the books. Sorry **** Marie is reading **_**Pride and Prejudice.*****_

"Thank you," Marie said gratefully as Madame Fabre handed her a mug of tea with a shake of her head.

"You are more than welcome. Monsieur, Madame," she said, turning to Cosette and Marius, "I do apologize for the havoc my son has wrecked upon your house."

Marius just shook his head. On the way over to the café, Jacques had told him of his involvement with the group, not asking for forgiveness, but rather coming clean so the older man would understand.

"I don't expect to be welcomed back. After the danger your family has faced, it's a miracle you haven't socked me in the face. I wanted you to know the whole story, Monsieur, and I'm willing to do anything to help you make this right."

Marius could not decide if he was angry or simply disappointed. Of course the situation was appalling, but he understood how a young man could get wrapped up in a situation faster than he knew what was happening, and before he knew it, be signing his life away. Besides, Jacques had removed himself from the group once he knew how dangerous they were; he had a conscious. Still, Marius had expected far more out of that young man. The fact that he'd run an anarchist rebel group darkened and weakened his opinion of the young man.

"Madame," Cosette said sincerely, "What's past is past. I am more concerned for my family's safety than anything, and this is not the first time your son has seen to protecting my children when I could not."

"Well you are all very welcome here."

Isabelle, Victoire and Sophie were playing on the floor in front of the fire, the young children excited to be out so early and on an adventure, unaware that they were in danger. Sophie was delightful, as Jacques had promised; a year younger than Isabelle and yet a head taller, with blonde curls and a brilliant smile.

"You must be Marie!" she exclaimed when the eldest Pontmercy child entered the humble house. "I've wanted to meet you for _so long._ My brother says that you're almost as smart as I am—"

"Hush Sophie," Jacques said, but Marie was smiling.

The young boys were bickering with each other, grumpy from their disrupted sleep. Jean was quiet in the corner. Marius did not want to lecture him in front of the Fabre family, and did not know what to say to him yet. Instead, the rest of the Pontmercys elected to ignore him for the time being, save for Cosette. Several times she walked over to him and gave him a reassuring pat, finding that her son turned away each time.

"What happened?" Marie asked Jacques quietly.

"Jean showed up at the meeting tonight—"

"I can't believe you still go to those, after everything that happened," Marie said bitterly.

"Marie, you don't understand. You can't just quit these things—you don't know how long I've wished to get out. It became something so far from what I originally intended."

"How do you mean?" she asked, her dark brows furrowing.

"Well, when we started, we were campaigning for more freedom, but what we were doing was hardly illegal. Then the leadership got narrower and narrower, and Marc took over completely. It was originally about four of us, then the two of us… and then it was just him. I quit tonight, and that's why I look like this."

Marie grimaced, looking at his beaten face. "How could your friends do that to you?"

"They were not friends, that's how," he answered bitterly. "Anyway, I was at the meeting tonight. I was too much of a coward to quit before tonight, I'll admit it. But hen I saw your brother was there. I tried to persuade Marc to let him go, but he would have none of it. 'He knows too much' he kept saying. Now that Jean's been arrested everyone knows who his—your—father is, and Marc was afraid to let a Pontmercy who knew all out secrets out of the group. Afraid of what would happen. Of course, he didn't know that threatening your family was just as dangerous… as soon as he did that, Marie, I promise, I quit right then and went to you as fast as I could."

"Obviously it wasn't that simple," she said, her fingertips brushing the bruises on his nose.

"No, but I did get away. I promise, Marie, I would never do anything to hurt you or your family. I've made mistakes—horrible ones. If I could do anything in my life over, I never would have joined that damned group. But if I hadn't, who knows what would have happened to Jean?"

Marie clicked her tongue. "I don't know, but I'm not ready to say I'm grateful that you were friends with people like that."

"Fair enough," Jacques said, taking a deep breath. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

She wished she could say _No, never._ But Marie's will crumbled when she remembered their hours of easy banter and his warm smile, and the times they laughed until her stomach ached. She could still taste him on her lips from all those months ago, and she took his hand.

Her immense pride prevented her from saying the actual words—they stuck in her mouth.

"Thank you for the book. It made me think."

"About what?"

"About me, and you," Marie said, shaking her head and then smiling. "Remember when you said I was not as aware of myself as I thought? Well, sometimes I think I know what's best for me, but I really have no more idea than anyone else."

Jacques smiled. "Marie, you know much more than everyone else. But some things are about feeling, not knowing."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No, Marie, don't be sorry. You had every right to be angry with me. I promise, if I have to work every day for the rest of my life to do so, I will prove how sorry I am for lying to you."

"Alright," she said. "But I won't take less than that."

Jacques' blue eyes lit up. "Does that mean…?"

Marie blushed. "You know what that means."

"No, I want to hear you say it. Is our engagement back in place? Will you marry me, Marie?"

"Hush," she said, looking over at her father, who was checking his watch and could have overhead. She lowered her voice. "Yes, my love, I will."

"Marie!" Jacques sighed, then bounced in his seat a bit, always the more zealous of the two. "I wish I could kiss you right now, but not in front of everyone, not yet. One day I'll be able to do that."

Marie shook her head and tried to appear disapproving, but had to admit that she desperately wanted to kiss Jacques again.

"Well," her father said, standing up. "The police station should be open by now. I'm going to report this and then see if the house is safe."

"Make sure you bring someone with you," Cosette said, worried. "Please don't go inside until you know it's safe."

Marius walked over to his wife, still sitting down, and put a hand on her head, smoothing her hair. "Don't worry, dearest, I'll be very careful."

Marie sighed and put her head in her hands. She could not wait until this affair was over and done with, and she could live her life without fearing for her brother's safety or doubting Jacques again.

She stood up, needing to stretch her legs. "Can we go get some bread and coffee? I saw a bakery across the street," she said, looking pointedly at Jacques, then at her mother. Cosette nodded.

"Just be back soon," she said, knowing that Marie needed some time to talk to her beau without the prying ears of her siblings.

Jacques followed obediently out the door and onto the streets. As soon as the door was closed Marie turned to him.

"I need you to promise me that you'll never lie to me again," Marie said, looking directly at Jacques. "If we marry, this cannot be like so many other marriages. I grew up with parents who loved each other, and a father who did everything he could to make my mother happy. My parents decided that their love for each other was more important than any squabble, any dividing issue, and that is why they are so happy together now, twenty years later. I refuse to be treated like a glorified maid, not consulted in any important matters and banished to the kitchen and children. Do you understand me? I know this is not typical, nor ladylike, or me to ask, but I think, or I thought, that you know me well enough to have expected as much of me. Please prove me right, Jacques, because I want to believe that you love me as you say you do."

"Marie," Jacques said, shaking his head, but smiling. "You are quite something, aren't you?"

He took a step forward, but she made a small gesture hedging him off. "Well?"

Jacques grinned. "Marie, I won't lie and say that your beauty didn't turn my head towards you, but we both know it was your brain and your desire to live and learn that made me fall in love and feel so intoxicated with you. I'd be a fool, no, a criminal to squander any of that. You have fire, and there is nothing I love more about you. I promise never to lie to you again. Can we put this behind us?"

Marie considered for a moment.

"Marie!" Jacques growled. "Now you are just being ridiculous."

"Fine!" she said, scowling at him for interrupting her thought process. "Yes, it's behind us."

He offered her his arm, and she took it, feeling the sun swell up inside of her.

"Now," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I ask your father."

**Please send reviews- there is more coming! I'm going to get back into this if it's the last thing I do!**


	17. The Question

One week later, after the Pontmercy's were safely reinstated in their home and the hullaballoo had died down, Jacques Fabre approached the household to attempt to ask the most difficult question of his life. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trouser legs for the hundredth time as he rang the doorbell and was escorted into the Pontmercy parlor. He'd arrived at precisely eight forty-five, when he was told to arrive, and been told to wait for Monsieur and Madame. It seemed to take hours before footsteps sounded outside the door.

Monsieur Pontmercy entered then, alone. Jacques stood up as fast as he could and straightened his back, extending his hand to the older man. Marius, however, turned around and shut the door securely before turning to Jacques. He noticed his hand but did not acknowledge it. Instead, Marius shook his head.

"Jacques, you are a nice young man. I like you very much. You are smart and driven and yet respectful; qualities I do not see in many young men your age. Indeed, if it were not inappropriate to do so, given the circumstances, I would offer you a job with my law firm."

Jacques was puzzled; these were complements, but there was definitely a "but" coming.

Marius sighed and gestured for his guest to sit down. Nervously, Jacques obliged, clasping his hands together so he would not fidget. He had not even gotten to the important question he needed to ask, and he already felt judged.

"Jacques, I know why you are here," Marius said, sounding resigned. "I knew it the moment I got your note asking to speak to my wife and I."

Jacques swallowed. "Oh. Um… yes?"

"Yes, I know. I never got this moment, you see; my wife's father and my grandfather arranged our marriage before I had the chance to ask. I can't say I regretted it, but it was a moment I had always envisioned. You see, Jacques, my wife and I had a rather… uncommon courtship."

"Is that so?" Jacques asked good-naturedly, though wondering why Monsieur Pontmercy was telling him all of this.

"Yes. I fell in love with her when she used to go on walks with her father in the Luxembourg gardens, and found out where she lived. Over many months, I followed her home and tracked down her address again when she moved. Eventually I worked up the courage to write to her, and then to speak to her. We met in her garden for nearly two months."

Jacques eyes widened.

"Then my wife told me that her father was taking her away to England. I was devastated, and so was she. We were so young we could not imagine being apart, even the thought of it was catastrophe. Even now, years later, I cannot imagine my life without her. Everything that I have here in this home that makes me happy, that makes my life worth living, is due to her. When my grandfather denied us permission to marry, I wanted nothing more than to die. Knowing it was a lost cause, I fought in the barricades of 1832 with my friends, republicans who were protesting the monarch. All of them perished, except for me, because Cosette's—" Marius stopped and shook his head. "Because my wife's father saved me, at terrible risk to himself. He carried me through the sewers, I, a bleeding, unconscious dead weight. He brought me home to my grandfather's where it took me months to recover. Eventually, though, I was well enough for my family to allow Mademoiselle Fauchelevent, now Madame Pontmercy, to visit with her father. From that day on we were betrothed and then married."

Jacques was astonished—Monsieur Pontmercy, a rebel! It did not fit; and yet… his policies in the courtroom were renowned for their lack of trust in government control. Still, it was hard to reconcile the stiff, rule following man with the one who followed his passion to fight.

"Monsieur, I… I don't know what to say. I never would have imagined any of that from you."

"Sometimes, neither can I," Marius said, shaking his head. "But I look back on how I felt when I thought I would lose the woman I loved forever, the sheer despair I felt, and then I understand the drastic action I took. But, Monsieur Fabre, what I do _not_ understand are your actions. Your politics were, in my opinion, foolish, and you put your family at risk, and then _my_ family. While I can forgive you for that because of your resulting actions in our favor, I cannot forget it."

Jacques' heart began to race, knowing that Monsieur Pontmercy was about to delve back into their main subject.

"I hate that I am about to say this," Marius said, "because I know exactly how it feels to hear it. Really, I do; trust me when I say I have been where you are. I know you love my daughter. But I have loved her every day for the past eighteen and a half years—no, longer. I have loved her since before she was born, loved her since my wife and I were betrothed and talking about the children we would have one day. I cannot give her to someone who may one day make a decision that jeopardizes her. Marie needs to come first; I need to know that her husband will always look to her when he is making a decision, and make his decision based on what is best for her. I am sorry, Jacques, I truly am. But I cannot give you permission to marry my daughter."

Jacques sat still for a moment, feeling all his hopes simmer away like smoke into the air. The oxygen left his lungs and his stomach dropped straight to the floor.

Pontmercy couldn't do this. He and Marie loved each other; that was all there was to it! He had been in love, how could he forget what that was like?

"Monsieur—" Jacques began to protest, but Marius held up a hand.

"Please do not think I took this decision lightly. I have been thinking of this since we first learned of your relationship with Marie. I promise you that this is not based on any kind of prejudice or even the nature of your relationship before my wife and I knew about it. My reasoning is exactly as I say it is, and I truly am sorry. But that does not change my standing."

Jacques swallowed hard, and then nodded. Both men stood up, and Marius offered his hand.

"As I said, I would offer you a job, but given the circumstances I feel it's best if we all kept our distance for some time. However, maybe in a few years…"

"Distance is best," Jacques said, knowing that Marius' offer for a few years down the road rested entirely on Marie's impending marriage to a suitable man. As soon as that happened, he'd be welcomed into the law firm with open arms, and nothing sounded less appealing.

Marius began to escort Jacques out, but the young man paused.

"Monsieur," he began, taking a deep breath. "I mean no disrespect, honestly. But I know you are worried about Marie's intellect and desire to learn. She has spoken to me about how you worry that she will marry someone who does not support this in her, and who stifles her brain. You're right to worry about this; she is uncommon and most men would be threatened by a wife who was, frankly, smarter than they were. Monsieur Pontmercy, I can assure you that these qualities of Marie's were exactly what made me fall in love with her. I understand exactly how special she is, how rare she is, and I love her for it. Do you know how rare _that _is? I am not perfect, I have made terrible mistakes, but I can make her happy, mostly by letting her be herself. Do you understand?"

Marius stared at Jacques, astonished that he would challenge him that way.

"I understand all of that perfectly, Monsieur Fabre. Let me be very clear: I am not declining because I worry that my daughter would not be happy with you. I am declining because I raised my children in an honest environment, and have always been adamant that they respect and honor my wife and I. As a result, I do not accept when any of my children disobey me deliberately and dangerously. Therefore I will not accept someone in my family who threatens to do so. I am fond of you as a young man, Jacques. Not as a son-in-law."

The younger man stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Well, Monsieur Pontmercy, I thank you for your honesty," he said, ice in his tone. "I believe there is no other reason for me to stay."

Marius suddenly felt a flash of regret after his harsh words had left his mouth. Jacques was, after all, a young man who made mistakes. Had he been too quick to write him off?

The thought of Marie, and her innocence, sealed his decision. No, he had not been too harsh.

"My offer still stands," Marius said as he escorted Jacques out of the Pontmercy home. "If, in a few years, you find yourself looking for a job, you know where to knock. In the meantime, I would be happy to write you a letter of recommendation for any firm you choose."

"Thank you Monsieur, but I am already employed, and doing quite well for myself on my own. Though it's a generous offer," he said bitterly, resentful that Monsieur Pontmercy could admire his brain and have so little trust in his heart. Either way, without being trusted with Marie, Jacques found he wanted nothing more to do with Marius.

"Until we meet again," Marius said when he opened the door, forgoing the formality of the maid hoping to avoid Marie being alerted to Jacques' presence.

"Yes, Monsieur. Farewell."

Jacques nodded at the man, and then turned and walked mechanically down the walk to the street. He circled the block, and came to the back of the house near the garden.

Jacques lifted the letter from his pocket, the one he'd hoped he would not have to use, and, pointedly looking up at the window to Marie's room, slid it between two of the bars of the wrought iron gate. He wedged it between the swirled iron ornamentations, nodding at the window. Then he turned once more to leave, pausing to wait behind the brick wall of the garden, safely out of view of the house. He heard the garden doors open, followed by quick, feminine footsteps, and then the door close again.


	18. A Daring Idea

At last, Jacques felt the despair sink into his heart. His knees began to shake and, despite all his efforts to hold them back, tears wet his eyes. It was over. Pontmercy had said no; what else could he do but continue to beg? That seemed impossible; his pride prevented him from getting down on his knees and pleading, though the possibility of a life without Marie was daunting and terrible.

That night, Jacques walked all about Paris with a heavy heart. All those plans he had made with Marie, all the trips they vowed to take, vanished like smoke. Oh, of course he knew they would not have done most of those things—where would they have found the money? He could not afford a life like that, whatever dowry Marie may have come with. He was not destitute, far from it, but lavish trips all about the world were not in the bargain. It was true that most of Jacques' "poor student" lifestyle was one of solidarity. He was employed with a law firm and working steadily. A trip to Italy, at least in a year or two, was not out of the question.

Well, yes it was, he knew, since Marie would not be going with him. Without her what was the point?

He thought of her sharp wit, and the way her gaze made his heart thunder and his palms sweat. His friends all talked about remaining calm and collected around women, and Jacques wondered if they were either lying or had never been in love. He never felt calm around Marie. He talked too much, and always felt on the verge of embarrassing himself, and yet he knew she understood him in a way no other person had. Despite the penetrating look and occasional ruthlessness that her eyes gave off, Jacques knew she loved him. They were a good match; he could make her laugh, something he suspected she did not do enough of. They argued, teased, debated, discussed, joked, cried, complemented, admired. They held each other, stroked each other, kissed each other.

Jacques mourned something else, too, when he thought of Marie's dark eyes. Not only did they make his heart race and cause him to overthink every word he was about to say, but they drove him wild in a way no woman had done before. He could not help but imagine what those eyes would look like under soft candlelight, alone in their marital bed, drowsy with fatigue and trust. Perhaps he would see euphoria in them, a resigned happiness as they lay together in the most intimate way.

Jacques sat down on a bench overlooking the Seine and lowered his face into his hands, his elbows on his knees. He imagined Marie's hair tumbling over his chest as she undid it from the coiled and braided style she usually wore it in, the softness of her pale skin, untouched even by sunlight, against his own. Her lips, which he knew already to be soft and red and hot, would leave his mouth. He felt phantom kisses on his cheeks, his neck, his chest, his navel, then, the agony of imagining those lips taking him inside her mouth…

On that bench Jacques let himself indulge in the fantasy of making love to the woman he would always think of as his wife, a fantasy he never let himself fully enjoy before. It always felt wrong, but now he realized that his love for Marie was so prevalent in this fantasy that he could not bring himself to feel ashamed. Wanting her was synonymous with loving her, and now it was fruitless to do either.

Jacques was not a stranger to women; in the years since he'd moved out of his mother's house and before Marie he'd been with more than a few. He never frequented brothels or even spent time with overtly sexual women; the rumors of disease were not worth the risk. But more than a few young working girls had found their way into his bed, following heavy flirting in cafés and a few drinks. They were all young, silly, desperate for approval and not shy about wanting him. He was never rude or pushy, always as much of a gentleman a young man can be when he was sleeping with these women.

That grew boring after a while, and Jacques found himself wanting something more months before Marie came into his life. He abandoned his practice of starting conversations with these women, and when conversations happened anyway, he avoided the endgame of his bed. For months before Marie he'd ben waiting to find someone, and had never dreamed that she would be everything that he found in Marie.

The moment he first saw her, he knew he'd never understood anything before. This feeling only increased after he met her and spoke with the most intelligent and inquisitive woman he'd ever met. The longer he knew her the more he understood that there was no one like her in the world. More than anything, he wanted to know that she would stay the woman she was now, and not become jaded by the world.

After hours of walking about the city, Jacques wandered back to his apartment, dazed. A frail female figure carrying a bag and swathed in a hood stepped out of a fiacre in front of his building, and Jacques was surprised when she walked in ahead of him, and up the stairs. He followed about fifteen paces behind, hearing her feet continue up the stairs until she stopped at the third landing.

He picked up his speed until he reached his apartment door, which she was standing in front of. The woman, hearing his footsteps, turned, removing her hood.

"Jacques!" Marie gasped, her eyes alight and happy.

"Marie," he said, more curious than happy. Still, he took two strides forward and folded her in his arms. He buried his face against her soft, dark hair and kissed her head. "My love what are you doing here?"

She looked positively radiant as she produced her bag. "I've run away!"

* * *

"Darling," Cosette said earlier that night to her husband. They were in their bedroom, she at her dressing table and Marius was pacing violently around the room. "I wish you hadn't been so swift in seeing him off. I would have liked to say something too."

"Cosette this is what we agreed!" Marius nearly spat, running a hand through his hair. "What would you have had me do?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, darling, I really don't. It's just… well… there is something to what he said. Remember, you told me you wanted to be sure Marie married someone who would value her, let her be herself. You were worried she would marry someone like the men you work with, whose wives live like, well, like me."

"Cosette dear, I hope you don't think I mean I think less of you—" Marius immediately looked worried.

She held up a hand to stop him. "Marius. I think nothing of that. I love you, I wanted a life with you where I could be your wife, be good to our friends and involved in our church. More than anything I wanted a life with you and our children. I didn't want anything more, love. Marie, though… she is different than I was. Than I am."

Marius sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his head on one of his hands. "You're right. She's special, not like any woman I know. Neither Isabelle or Victoire will be remotely like this."

"However," Cosette said, pursing her lips. This was the point she most wanted to make, but she was worried about how to pose it. "She may have been different than me, but she and Jacques love each other."

Marius rolled his eyes.

"They _do_," Cosette said. "You can see it when they look at each other, Marius. Just because you don't approve of them doesn't mean they don't feel exactly as we did."

Marius furrowed his brow. "You know as well as I do that people learn to love their arranged spouses all the time."

Cosette sighed. "Marius, you know I will support whatever decision you make. But I also know that most of my friends have learned to love their spouses, but that love is very different. They respect and care for each other, yes. It's a companionship kind of love, but it's not the easy connection we had from the beginning."

She continued to appeal to Marius, citing anecdotes from early in their relationship, explaining how marrying by choice can make life easier, and reminding him of something he'd said many years before.

"You told me: everyone is equal in love. Remember that? You said that you had certain duties to me and I had duties to you, but that since we loved each other you were not in a position of power over me, or at least that I had power too. Politically and societally, yes, you were my protector and guardian, but at home I was the only person you had to answer to."

"Yes," Marius agreed. "I don't see how any man could love a woman and then, in the same breath, say she was not entitled to his best treatment, or that her needs were less important."

"Now, don't you want that for Marie?" Cosette asked.

Marius sulked. "I do, I do. But…"

"I know. It's hard. It's terrifying."

"I don't want to choose wrong," he said. "We only choose once."

"So maybe we don't choose," Cosette said. "She will."

"I absolutely insist on entertaining some other choices," Marius said stubbornly. "What if another man flirts with her and she falls just as easily? We'll know that Jacques really was a flash in the pan."

Cosette raised her eyebrows. "We both know she is not that flighty. My love, she is smarter than I was at that age—or ever was, actually. But I chose right."

"Maybe because you followed your heart and not your mind," Marius stipulated. "I was educated as well, but threw that all away when I met you, and only did what felt right. Marie… I don't know. She's so reasonable, what if she only thinks Jacques is right for her, based on her experiences? Of which she was not had enough of to know for sure…?"

Cosette sighed. "Marius, it seems to me like you're going to find any way to reason out of this, just like you are claiming Marie to do. I can't talk you into this, but I can assure you that if you push her away from him you will lose her."

Marius stood up from the bed as though shocked. "That's ridiculous! How could you even suggest that? I am her _father._ After everything I have given her, how could she dishonor me that way? Because I am doing what is best for her!"

Cosette shook her head. "It's like you said. She'd be following her heart. To protect her own happiness she may have to hurt ours. I know I hurt my father to be with you."

Marius grew tender. "Darling that was different. He'd given us his permission and his whole blessing; it's natural for him to be a bit heartbroken at losing you but you did not betray him."

"After our marriage I believe I did, Marius; I was so wrapped up in our life together that I did not stop to worry over him, even when it was obvious he was so sad and sick. You see?"

Marius waited a long moment.

"Fine, Cosette. I have a lot to think about. Thank you. I won't say yes, and I will invite other man to meet us, but I won't banish Jacques. Is that alright for now?"

Cosette smiled. "I hope so."

* * *

Marie was seated in Jacques' armchair, satisfied with a cup of tea and his rapt attention.

"I got your note that my father had said no to you, and I'm sure you understand that I was devastated. I didn't know what to do; at first I thought of running and begging my father to reconsider, but then I realized something. I adore my father, but he doesn't want me to marry you because of reasons he doesn't understand. He doesn't know you are a good person, he only knows what he's seen from you in the few times you've met. Also, he doesn't want me to marry _at all, _I'm beginning to see."

Jacques furrowed his brow. "Yes?"

"Well, if I am willing to lecture you all about how, in our marriage, you cannot expect me to blindly follow you, then I don't understand why I should blindly follow him."

"Perhaps because he is your father and you are underage?" Jacques said, confused.

"True. But… if I was married he would not be able to tell me what to do any longer."

"But Marie we're back precisely where we started. We can't _be_ married, so yes, he can tell you what to do!"

"We can't be married traditionally, no, but what if we can away?" her eyes brightened up, getting to her idea. "We could marry in Belgium, then move back to Paris."

Jacques' mouth slackened. "Marie! I… this is… terrible. Your father would never forgive you, or me. You couldn't do this to them. You adore them."

Marie took his hands in her own, feeling the connection like electricity that ran between them.

"I would do that for you, my love," she said, leaning in to kiss him with fervor that had never been there before. He tasted bravery in her kiss, feeling her triumph at having asserted her independence. Moved by this, Jacques drew her closer to him until she was on his lap, their mouths locked together, and his hands in her dark soft straight locks.

"Marie," he said, breaking away. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," she whispered, remaining on his lap, tucking her head into his neck.

"But… you are simply running away from this problem, not standing up to your father."

"You don't think disobeying him and doing what I want is standing up to him?" Marie asked, her eyes sharp, her eyebrows raised.

"Well, when you put it that way, yes. But wouldn't you want to save whatever relationship you have with him? And your mother and siblings?"

She cast her eyes down, and Jacques regretted to see them full of tears. "I would, but I can't sit in that house for a moment longer and wait for them to marry me off to someone my father works with, Jacques, I can't. I want an adventure with you, I want to travel and see the world and build a life with you. Please, please don't take this from me."

Jacques waited for a moment, weighing the options. The potential wrath of Monsieur Pontmercy versus the woman he loved begging him to marry her. It didn't take long for him to realize that one did not have many chances like this.

"I don't like the means," he said. "But I would be a fool if I passed up this chance. Yes, Marie. Let us see… I have money saved, and can pack a bag tonight and send a note to my firm citing a personal emergency. It's Wednesday, I can miss three days of work. That will give us four days, with Sunday. We can take a train first thing in the morning tomorrow, to Brussels. We'll find a church, and by nightfall... you'll be my wife."

Marie softened as she threw her arms around Jacques' neck. "Oh, yes, my love. Yes, I'm so happy."

"We may even have time to sightsee," Jacques said. "Why not start with Brussels? It was never on your list, but we can spend Friday in the city."

"If we're not otherwise preoccupied," Marie said, a mischievous look in her eyes, but she refused to meet them with Jacques'.

"My love are you insinuating something?" he asked, laughing. "That maybe we won't find our way out of the inn on Friday?"

She shrugged, her face very red, before she buried her face back against his neck. "I am simply suggesting that there might be something we would rather be doing on Friday, that's all. We'll have Saturday to sightsee."

There was laughter in his eyes as he pushed Marie off his lap.

"Well, my love, we have a very, very big day ahead of us tomorrow, and it's already midnight. I still need to pack and start the arrangements, but you should sleep. Here, I'll make up my bed for you."

Marie pouted a little, thinking he would join her. It was only one day until they would be married, after all, but Jacques led her into his bedroom and she set out her things. He quickly packed a bag while she went into the washroom and readied herself for bed, finding a blanket and pillow on his couch when she emerged.

She knew she was far past ladylike mystery after her rushed proposal tonight, so she was not embarrassed to say: "Wouldn't you be more comfortable with me?"

Jacques grinned. "Marie, love, if only you knew how much I would like to join you. But if I can save any propriety between us I will. You are not the type of girl who should have a runaway marriage, for certain, but if that must happen than I am certainly not breaking any more rules. We can last twenty-four more hours. Less, probably. Shall we say twenty more hours?"

Marie blushed, and grinned. "Twenty it is. Goodnight, my husband-to-be."

He strode towards her and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Goodnight, my future wife. Sleep well."

Marie smiled, her white nightgown and unfastened hair making her look younger than he'd ever seen her before. She turned and went into the bedroom, while he stayed in the main room of the tiny apartment, contemplating the morality of his decision, and coming up very short.

* * *

**Please, please, PLEASE leave a review! I so appreciate them, otherwise I feel like I am writing to no one! I might as well not publish at all and keep it saved on my computer. :(**


	19. The Decision

While Cosette slept peacefully through the night, Marius tossed and turned and barely got in a wink of rest. Whenever he closed his eyes, images of Marie danced across his mind and he could not nail down a decision regarding her future.

On the one hand, he knew he had been too harsh on Jacques. For goodness sake, after the agony he had gone through with Cosette, how could he dismiss their love? What if he was causing Marie the same anguish that had been inflicted on them? But every time he thought he was going to come round, he pictured his baby Marie, with her big brown eyes and her tiny fists, swathed in a diaper, and he decided no, she was not ready to marry yet.

However, despite all this, Marius knew he was being ridiculous. He knew Cosette would chide him for these overly protective thoughts. She liked Jacques, he and Marie loved each other.

So, that morning, Marius was set to change his mind. He rose early and dressed, going out for a walk and thinking of all the ways he could control as much of the union as possible.

Perhaps, in exchange for Marie's hand, he could insist on giving Jacques a job at his firm? That was he could prevent them from ever moving away. Or maybe the young couple could stay living in the house with the rest of the family? The other children adored Jacques, that arrangement might be possible. Of course, then he would have to reconcile himself to Marie and Jacques sharing a bedroom, a thought that still threatened to give him seizures…

After an hour strolling with his thoughts, Marius made his way back home. His key turned in the lock, but before he'd put one foot inside the foyer he knew something was wrong.

"Your father is going to be furious," he heard Cosette's voice say form the other side of the door.

He fully entered the house and shut the door, turning into the parlor off the foyer.

"And what am I going to be furious about?"

He did not need to be told. Marius clapped his eyes on a tearful Marie and a chagrined Jacques, both looking exhausted and Marie in a wrinkled dress, her coat tossed on the settee next to her.

"Where have you been?" he thundered.

Cosette was up from her seat before he could overreact.

"Now Marius, be patient with them, I'm actually rather proud of their maturity—"

Marius could not listen to his wife's soothing words. He was too angry. "Were you out all night?" he glared at Marie. She opened her mouth to speak, but Marius had already started on Jacques.

"And you! I thought I told you to keep your distance! If you recall, I did not give you permission to marry my daughter because I thought you had a tendency to be disrespectful and impulsive. And here you go, stealing my daughter and keeping her out all night, God _knows_ what you were doing. I thought you two were better than this—"

"Nothing happened!" Jacques exclaimed, throwing up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I promise Monsieur, I swear on my life nothing improper happened between us."

"It's true," Marie said. "Jacques brought me back here, I ran away last night, and he brought me back."

Marius took a breath to continue arguing, but found he was not quite sure what to say. "… Pardon?"

"Sit down dear," Cosette said, pulling a chair out for him. "I'll call for some tea."

Marius was not listening; he was too overwhelmed (_what if they'd…. and Marie had become pre_… he couldn't even finish the word in his head).

"Alright. Tell me the truth."

Marie looked at Jacques, knowing it would be better to let him appear honorable in front of Marius. She knew her father would forgive her; it would be better to let Jacques appear in the best light.

Jacques coughed, and took a deep breath. "You see, Monsieur, last night after I spoke to you I wrote Marie a note and let her know that you'd said we could not marry. I said goodbye, and wrote that I loved her. Then I went out walking for a few hours, but when I returned to my apartment I found Marie there waiting for me."

Marius was about to request Jacques refer to Marie was "Mademoiselle," but then gave up, realizing that these two were far more familiar and intimate than he realized, and there love was out of his control.

"Go on."

"She'd run away."

"I was horrified that you'd said no, father," Marie interrupted. "You see, you know how much I loved Jacques and yes, we've both made mistakes, but that I thought that was between us. You always said I could do anything and that no one should boss me about, that I was too smart for that. So why should I not be able to marry who I choose?"

Marius bit his tongue, and did not respond. He knew he could say nothing helpful.

Jacques continued.

"We made plans to run away to Belgium and marry. We were going to take a train there this morning and marry at dusk."

Marius almost rose out of his chair, his face red and livid.

"Monsieur, please listen!" Jacques beseeched, his eyes round and frightened. "I wanted to, I really did. You _must_ understand. I love Marie, just as you love your wife. You know how tempting it sounds. Could you imagine, being me and hearing her ask to run away and be together? It was nearly impossible for me to resist. But then after Marie went to sleep," Jacques eyed Marius pointedly, "In a _separate room,_ I might add—"

Marie grew bright red but nodded.

"I could not go through with it. I thought of my sister, and how heartbroken I would be if she ran away and married. I knew I could not take Marie away from her family like that. Mind you, I still think we are supposed to be together, but not at her expense. You see Monsieur, I could not let her risk all of this for me."

Marius raised his eyebrows, shocked. His eyes met Jacques' and he saw a resigned look there.

"I wanted to let you two know the truth. Though it breaks my heart to do this, I know that it's best. I could not stand to be a wedge in your family. If you want me to go away, I swear I will this time, and I won't come back."

Marie sniffled. "When I woke in the morning, Jacques insisted we come back here. I was furious, but maybe a little grateful too. I did not want to give you up, any of you." Her eyes filled with tears.

Marius could not help it, he reached forward and took his daughter in his arms.

"Oh Marie, darling, you would never have had to give us up, no matter what you chose. I would have been furious if you had eloped, but that does not mean your mother or I will ever stop loving you.

"My mother married a man my grandfather did not approve of, and we—the three of us—lived separately until my mother died. Grandfather Gillenormond loved my mother very, very much, and he scarcely saw her for years until her death. I promise you, no argument is worth that to me. Not when it comes to you, anyhow."

Marie wiped her tears. "Does this mean you are not angry?"

Marius laughed. "Marie, Jacques…. I am _livid."_

They looked taken aback.

"But… I also completely understand. I hate everything about your courtship. I despise the way this has all taken place behind my back. However, what else could I have asked for? I told you to never take 'no' for an answer, that you were always smart enough to find a solution. So, I suppose I got exactly what I deserved."

Marius shook his head and put a hand to his temple.

Just then Cosette returned with the tea, setting it down on the coffee table.

Marius looked at his wife, who smiled knowingly at him. He shrugged his shoulders at her, a tiny silent conversation. She nodded, and then he reciprocated.

She put her hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his own, before turning to the young couple.

"I suppose," he looked pained, "You have my permission to marry."

The couple looked positively shocked, before happiness spread over their young faces.

"As long as you promise me that you come to dinner _every_ Sunday, no exceptions, and you stay in Paris."

"That's easy!" Jacques said quickly, his eyes round, still shocked.

"And also, your mother and I have visiting rights to any future grandchildren whenever we like."

"Fine, perfectly fine," Marie said, grandchildren far from her mind.

"Alright then," Marius said stiffly. "I think that's all. Er, run along now Jacques and go tell your mother. She and your sister are welcome for dinner here tonight."

"Father!" Marie said, smiling and throwing her arms around Marius' neck, "Thank you!"

"I love you Marie," he said, and then looked at Jacques. "May you two be as happy together as I've been in my marriage."

"Thank you Monsieur," Jacques said, shaking Marius' hand emphatically with both of his own. "I don't know how I could ever thank you."

"I do," Marius said. "Make sure she doesn't come back to me in tears ever again."

"I promise I will take care of her, Monsieur, Madame," he said, looking at the Pontmercys.

"We know you will," Cosette said. "We just weren't ready to let you."

"Until now," Marie said, beaming.

Marius was already starting to feel out of place as Marie and his wife jumped immediately into wedding plans and Jacques was busy staring lovingly at his daughter. Luckily, the door opened then and provided a distraction.

Little Victoire entered the room without knocking, her stuffed animal trailing behind her and her eyes still sleepy. She looked at the commotion in the room, and frowned. Her white nightgown was now too short because of the growth spurt she was in the midst of, and it was almost to her knees. Marius looked mournfully at her tiny white legs, wishing he could freeze her exactly as she was.

Marius sat down on the couch and drew the little girl into his lap.

"What's all this about?" she asked, her bare feet resting on her father's knee.

"Marie and Monsieur Fabre are getting married," Marius said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He finally understood the natural bitterness that had always existed between Valjean and himself.

"Ugh," Victoire said, wrinkling her nose. "I like Monsieur Fabre and all, but why do they want to get married? I _never_ want to get married. Boys are gross."

Marius grinned and kissed the top of her head. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that, sweetheart."


	20. A Place of Their Own

**Alright, I decided to write this anyway, for my guilty pleasure and yours. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Marie fiddled with the ribbons on her bodice as the carriage was pulled through Paris. The horses' hooves clapped away on the cobblestones, but the beating of her heart punctuated the silence more than the noises from travel.

Jacques held her hand throughout. His palm was a bit sweaty, and she could feel how tense he was. She was no different; despite the immense happiness of the day, all of her worries wrapped around her at present and she couldn't even breathe correctly.

"Are you alright, darling?" her husband asked. "You are very quiet."

She looked over at him. He was sitting next to her in the carriage, and looked so handsome in his wedding suit. It was light gray, which looked beautiful on him, accenting his large blue eyes. She flushed.

"I am wonderful, my love," she said. It was half-true.

He nodded, and she knew he could still sense her nerves, but he did not comment. She felt his lips on her temple, and his arm around her shoulders, and she closed her eyes. With her head resting on her shoulder, she thought for the remainder of the ride of what would come that night.

When they arrived at their new home, Jacques went to pay the driver, but he refused.

"Monsieur Pontmercy has taken care of it, Monsieur," he said.

"Of course he has," Jacques muttered with a shake of his head. "Your papa always finds a way to take care of you, doesn't he, love?"

"And you now, too," she said with a smile.

"Best wishes, Monsieur, Madame," the driver said, tipping his hat.

Marie blushed scarlet, but beamed.

"Madame," she whispered.

"That you are," Jacques said. Right on the street in front of their flat, he lifted Marie off her feet and spun her around, before kissing her. He dipped her down, with their mouths pressed firmly together, and then swung her smartly back up. She gasped, and laughed out loud.

"Monsieur! You are in rare form tonight." Her sharp eyes twinkled at him.

"I just love the sound of you as my Madame. The Madame to my Monsieur. '—and Madame.' I like it. That's you. You're mine now."

She grinned, and felt a thrill of wickedness quicken in her stomach. She stood on her tiptoes and put her lips against his ear. His skin there was cold in the early spring night air, and she kissed it while she whispered. "If I'm yours now, then bring me inside."

His heart skipped a beat, and he felt his skin rush with heat. Marie. Beautiful, zealous Marie, with those fiery eyes… he would finally see what they were like, staring at him in the throes of passion. Jacques stared, probably a little open-mouthed, at her, and then smiled in enthusiasm.

He scooped her up, which was not altogether very simple because she was tall and had a very heavy, large dress on, but he succeeded enough to carry her to the door.

"Oh, no I have to unlock it," he said. "And then stairs…"

"For goodness' sake, Jacques, put me down," she said prissily.

"You don't want me to carry you? Isn't it bad luck?"

Marie made a face. "Pft! Don't be ridiculous. I am perfectly capable of walking."

He smirked and set her on her feet before he unlocked the door. Marie had taken little to no interest in the wedding planning, always citing how she was more concerned with the marriage than the wedding.

"That's all well and good," her mother would say, "but you won't have a wedding at all at the rate you're going!"

In the end, Sophie had taken an interest, and somehow the ordeal was planned. Tonight they had danced and ate in the Pontmercy household until midnight, when Jacques had whispered in Marie's ear asking when she wanted to leave. She responded by turning red, but whispering back, "Immediately. I've been dying for a moment with you all day."

Here they had all the moments in the world. Jacques succeeded in unlocking the door, and the newlywed couple made their way up the stairs to their second-floor flat. Jacques found the other set of keys after some fumbling (this was a new flat after all) and opened the door. It was pitch black.

"Wait, I have matches," he said, and produced them from his pocket. He lit one, and with the light located a lamp and lit that too. In the next few minutes, he and Marie finished lighting candles all about the apartment, until they could see.

"This is our place," she said, marveling. It was small, just one bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen, but spacious and clean. There was a view of the Seine out their bedroom window, and a balcony. "A place just for the two of us."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She knew he meant the concept more than the physical apartment.

"Yes," she agreed.

There were flowers all about, and the place smelled wonderful.

"Who brought those here?" she wondered. "They're beautiful."

"I did, this morning," he confessed.

"Jacques," she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I thought you might like it," he whispered.

"I do," she said. "But not as much as I like being here with you."

He kissed her deeply right there in the kitchen, and slid her wrap from her shoulders and set it down on the well-made wooden table that his grandfather had given them as a wedding present. Marie's mouth was hot against his, and she pressed her lips to him without shame. His fingers were holding her tightly around her waist, though he could scarcely feel the true shape of her due to the thick boning of her corset and bodice. He imagined what it would be like when she was naked, and he could trace his lips across her skin. Perhaps she would shiver, or whisper his name…

_Don't get ahead of yourself, Jacques,_ he chided himself. He needed to stay in the moment; this was _really_ happening, now, for the first time. He could not miss it by fantasizing about it.

"Marie," he whispered against her lips.

They stopped their kisses and she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, and for the first time Jacques saw how frightened she was. He could have kicked himself for overlooking that fact for the past three months. Marie was so fearless that he hadn't worried about her. She'd made comments before about wanting to be with him, but he knew now it was all bravado, and she was as terrified as any sheltered, virgin Catholic girl.

"_Cherie." _He stroked her white cheek with his fingers, and watched as blood rose to the surface.

"My husband," she said, and smiled. It was a smile to cover her nerves, doubtless, but there was genuine happiness there too. "Would you like a drink? Shall I fix you something…?"

"I left some champagne in an ice bucket on the balcony to keep it cold," he told her.

She grinned. "So you did." Marie turned and, with his hand grasped in her own, led him towards their bedroom. He noticed how she hesitated ever so slightly before crossing the threshold, and made a beeline for the windows. She did not even glance at the large bed in the center of the room, with brand new sheets and a comforter her mother had sewn for them. Jacques stayed behind and lit the candles on the mantle and the tables beside their bed, until Marie returned with the champagne. He produced the two glasses and opener that he'd left next to the bed, and opened the bottle. He poured both of them half a glass.

"To us," he said, finding the cliché encompassed all he wanted to say.

She smiled and raised her glass and took a drink. He sat down on the edge of the bed while she sat on the chair opposite the vanity, facing him. He had to admire his bride; in the candlelight, her dark hair gleamed seemed to soak in the shadows of the room. Her eyes reacted similarly; they reflected the candlelight when they looked at him, yet the dim nature of the room rendered her beautiful eyes even darker and deeper than usual, like pools of black coffee. Her skin looked soft and smooth and unmarred, and he marveled at how the softness of the light cold serve to make even Marie, who he thought was haltingly beautiful to begin with, more stunning. Her white lace dress pooled at her feet, the delicate neckline and long sleeves covered her slender build modestly and rendered her graceful and delicate. He wanted to protect her, to hold her, to kiss every inch of her skin…

"You're staring," she whispered, giggling.

"I'm sorry," he said, and shook his head. "You're just so beautiful, my love. I can't believe we're finally married, and all of the hullaballoo is behind us."

"I know," she agreed. He knew how she detested the loudness of the wedding, and how she thought the large party made a mockery of their intimacy. "I have you all to myself now. I was so tired of all that dancing, and how I had to pass you around so often. I did not want to share you today."

Jacques felt pride prickle on the back of his neck; Marie was jealous. "Marie, if you never want to go to a party again, and would instead rather not share me here in the privacy of this apartment, I would be a very happy man."

She turned scarlet and coughed, apparently having swallowed her champagne badly.

"I'm sorry to embarrass you," he confessed. He felt he was doing something wrong, and knew his mind was dwelling far too obsessively on one thing alone. Chiding himself, Jacques moved to his knees in front of his wife. He removed the champagne flute from her grasp and set it down, and took her slender hands in his own. He kissed her fingers, and then brought them up to his cheeks.

"I have dreamed of this day since I met you in the library, Marie. Especially since our time in your garden, those precious nights belonging to the two of us, I have longed for the day when no man could separate us here on earth. When I could henceforth make every action and decision in confidence that you would be beside me. Forgive me for staring, but I am drinking in the euphoria of knowing that it is you, Marie, who sits before me in her wedding dress."

"Jacques," she whispered, and set one of her hands on his hair. She raked her fingers through his soft curls and had to steady her breathing. The sheer nature of their aloneness had her pulse racing. "We are going to live a life like no one before us."

"That we shall. We are unstoppable together."

"I never want to be without you," she said. Marie ran her hands across his face and down to his shoulders, and then gently pulled at him until he rose up onto his knees and kissed her. She kept her hands gently on his lapels as their lips moved together. Tentatively, Jacques touched the back of her neck and pulled her closer, so he could kiss her more deeply.

She sighed, and moved her hands up to his shoulders.

"You are trembling," he whispered. "Love?"

"I'm sorry." She broke away and covered her eyes with her hand. "I don't mean to be so nervous, Jacques, I don't—"

"Hush, Marie." He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him so she could hide her face against his chest. "You don't need to apologize. I know you are completely innocent, love. I know you don't know anything about this."

"You do?" She looked up at him, and there again was the terror in her eyes.

"Yes," he said.

"But there's not knowing, and then there's _not knowing,_" she said, in that peculiar way she had that let him know she was already thinking five steps down the line. "I was never… I did not want to marry, I never asked questions. My sister Victoire is so young and she already questions Mama about kissing; I never did that. I was so embarrassed about it all. I just ignored it… and then _you_ happened, and I… I didn't know what I was feeling, Jacques. It was so frightening, you must understand."

He stroked her hair, which was twisted into an elaborate style on top of her head.

"I can only imagine. Marie, everything I felt for you was terrifying enough and I knew what it all meant."

"Why were you scared if you knew what it meant?"

"I had never felt that much of anything before. Any emotion at all—and then I fell in love with you, and I felt as though ever cell of my body was feeling more than the whole of me had felt up until that point. I loved you, I… wanted you, and it frightened me how much. You were—are—so important, I couldn't make a mistake and risk ruining everything. Of course, you know how many mistakes I made…"

She giggled, and some of her tension melted away. "That's true. I love you anyway."

"I didn't know you would be forgiving," he explained. "You see, Marie, I am frightened like you. First, it may help if we undo your hair? And your dress? You can't be comfortable like this."

"I'm not," she confessed, and turned to face the mirror. "I have about fifty pins in my hair."

"Where shall I begin?" he asked, his hands nervously floating about her head. "I don't want to pull…"

"Let me," she said. Her fingers moved with ease and expertise, and pulled pin after pin from her head. Soon Jacques had watched enough to get the hang of it, and gently began pulling as well, working at about half the pace of Marie. Eventually, her long dark hair was released. It was curled and crimped from her style, and she shook it out in relief. Jacques watched in awe, trying not to let his imagine wander further, while he watched his wife comb her fingers through her hair and massage her scalp, tilting her head back and closing her eyes in ecstasy.

"That feels so much better," she said finally. She stood up, and was already less nervous. He could tell when she turned around and presented her buttons to him. "Would you please…?"

_Take off your dress?!_ "Certainly."

It was his turn to have shaking fingers as he moved down the seemingly endless column of pearly buttons. As he reached the last one, Marie rolled her shoulders and the bodice opened, revealing (to his disappointment) the back of her chemise and her corset, laced tight.

"The laces…?"

"Yes," he said, and untied the bow at the top. Slowly, he pulled the ribbons through, undoing each "x" until her corset, too, was unfastened.

Marie turned and, to his astonishment, shed her bodice. She laid it on the back of the chair, and then shed her corset as well. Jacques' breath caught in his throat. Marie stood before him, clad only in her chemise to the waist. The cotton was thin, and he could make out every shape of her beneath the fabric. Though he could see that she was still trembling, she looked at him with a blazing, brave look. Before his eyes, she moved her hands to her waist and unfastened her skirt, and stepped out of it. Next came her petticoats and crinoline, and then she stepped out of her white slippers.

His wife stood before him in nothing but her stockings and a thin white slip. She took a step forward and laid a trembling hand on his chest next to the flowers fastened on his breast. Slowly, she unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it off of his shoulders, so he stood before her in shirtsleeves. Jacques watched in awe as Marie undid each of the buttons of his shirt; she had a concentrated, serious look in her eyes as she revealed him inch-by-inch. Soon she shed his shirt and collar, and then he pulled her to him once more.

Naked to the waist, he enveloped Marie in his arms and felt the shape of her for the first time against him, covered only by the thin cotton. She was softer than he'd imagined, despite her slender form, and he felt himself moan in the back of his throat as his hands pressed with flat palms all around her waist and back.

"You've…" she whispered, breaking away from his lips. Jacques moved across her white neck, and kissed her collarbones. The delicate shape of the bone beneath her skin made his heart ache like he wanted to envelope her in an impossible way. Marie fought against his kisses and continued to speak. "You've… done this before… I don't know what I'm supposed to do… You need to help me."

"Marie," he said, and rose up to face her once more. "Believe me, nothing I have ever done before could have prepared me for you. Look."

He held out his hand so she could see that his fingers were trembling, too. She grinned at him, and then threw her arms around him with more abandon than before.

"Wait, wait," he pleaded, and when she moved away again, he stooped down. "I need to take off my shoes."

She grinned and blushed, but waited patiently until he untied the laces and kicked off his uncomfortable dress shoes. In one movement he stood and pulled her back to him, and pressed his lips to hers.

Without breaking their kiss, Jacques led her to the bed. He held her tightly to him as they lay down, and felt how Marie gradually left her inhibitions behind and became the woman he knew from her garden. Her hands moved across his chest, and her nails dug into his back when he pressed her closer.

Marie could hardly believe she was lying on a bed in next to nothing and was not embarrassed. Her legs were nearly entirely exposed, but rather than try to cover them, she hooked one around Jacques' to pull him closer to her, and trembled when his hand traced up her naked thigh. His shoulders were hot under her hands, and the soft hairs on his chest tickled her arms and shoulders. His tongue was hot and strong in her mouth, and she only wanted to taste more of him. Her breasts ached, but it was nothing to the burn between her legs. She pressed herself against him and felt him press back.

She moaned, and so did he. She knew Jacques loved her, and knew he wanted her, but she was not prepared for the strength of his desire. Not that she minded. She gasped when his hand left her hair and settled over her breast, but only felt a rush of arousal when he groaned with longing. His finger brushed over her nipple, which was hard under the cotton, and then to her astonishment he leaned down and kissed her through the fabric, until she could feel his damp, hot breath through her chemise.

"Jacques," she gasped. "Oh my…"

He groaned again, and she felt the same rush of desire inside of her at the sound. She was beyond herself, certainly beyond shame, but beyond her usual shyness as well. Her fingers laced themselves through his hair, and she kissed his neck and sucked on the soft skin behind his ear, hoping to elicit one of those noises from him again. She succeeded, and raised her hips to press herself against him again.

"God, Marie," he whispered breathlessly.

She rolled her head to break away from him, and then looked down. She saw him through his trousers, but this time felt curiosity instead of embarrassment. She hadn't seen a man before, once he was mature. Only her little brothers.

Marie raised her eyes and met his, and was suddenly struck by the sheer need that met her gaze. She was still trembling, but for a different reason.

Her hand traced down from his shoulder to his waist, and then gently touched his belt.

"I… I didn't know it… changed," she said, trying to form the words.

Jacques gave her a confused look. She looked down at the lump in his trousers again.

"You don't usually look like that."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh. Yes, Marie, love. When we're excited, it gets… bigger. And sort of stands up."

She was still looking down. He nearly laughed; she was so concentrated, and he wondered if it was sexual at all for her in that moment, or if she was merely learning something new.

"So when you want me, it looks like that?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't it always?"

He let himself laugh this time. "Well, Marie, it did many times in the garden, but it was dark… I usually tried to make sure you wouldn't see. Or I'd try to think about something else and not let myself get… carried away."

She grinned. "Oh. So you're very carried away now, aren't you?"

He looked at her seriously, and then nodded. She giggled.

"So… I understand something," she said. He was still balanced above her, their bodies pressed together, but waiting patiently. Marie was the type who needed to think, and sometimes talk, her way through new things, and he knew this. "When you are… excited, you get… bigger. Or… what do you call it?"

"Hard?" he offered.

"Hard," she accepted, her eyes still clearly showing how thoughtful she was. "So it's just like how, when I think about… things like this... and get… excited, I'll get…" she racked her brain for a word, and Jacques stared at her in extreme anticipation. "All hot feeling, and sometimes… wet."

He could hardly breathe. Jacques looked down at his wife, and instantly damned every sexual experience he or his friends at ever had. God damn it all if this was not the most erotic experience of his or anyone else's life.

"Yes," he said finally. "Marie… do you feel that way now? Wet?"

She blushed, but it was hard to tell because her cheeks were flushed anyway.

"Yes," she whispered.

Jacques moaned, and pressed his mouth to hers, hard, and felt her tongue in his mouth. He felt like his heart was beating outside of his body, for his skin was so alive. Marie surprised him once more by breaking their kiss to pull her chemise over her head.

"I wanted to feel your skin on mine," she said, by way of explanation.

_Fine by me,_ he thought, but took a moment to look at her beautiful body. Her breasts were small and fit with the rest of her slender frame, but she had a birthmark on her left breast just under her nipple. He kissed it, and then moved up to take her nipple in his mouth. He felt her bow up, moving into the sensation of him, and he stroked her other breast with his hand, before moving down across her belly and touching the patch of hair between her legs.

Dazed, he moved away from her breasts and looked down at her, perfect and pink and desiring him, and opened her soft thighs. Her kissed her skin on either side, conscious of her breath breaking, loud and even.

He was thankful for the candlelight, not only so he could see her (and she was beautiful) but also because it gave him a clue as to where to touch her, since he was aware she probably wouldn't even know.

She had been watching him this whole time, and was transported by his gaze. It was so intoxicating to see someone so entranced by her body, by the mere existence of her, and by things that she had seen every day of life and barely given a thought to. Yet the look in his eyes when she removed her chemise…!

When he parted her thighs, she felt altogether extremely exposed and very safe. She'd never been so vulnerable, yet never felt more cared for.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"If you ever don't like something we're doing, just tell me and we'll stop," he said. "Do you promise you will?"

"Yes," she promised. "But I don't want to stop now."

He grinned, and then moved down to kiss her there. He felt her knees buckle, and her hips shifted against his mouth.

For her part, she had never felt anything close to that before, and was lost herself more and more against the heat of his tongue, and the soft touch of his hands. His fingers were inside of her, but moved so slow and delicately that it didn't hurt a bit. For a long time she did not even notice that she was not touching him at all, she was so caught up in the pleasure of his attentions on her. But then she did notice, and felt that she should be doing something—all of this attention on her wasn't fair.

"Jacques," she whispered as she felt herself rise higher and higher. "Let me—"

She moved her hands to pull him up, but he clasped them with his own, and she felt her own moisture on his fingers. He reached up and stroked her belly and one of her breasts, calming her, silently telling her to lay back. He groaned against her, moved by the noises of pleasure she was making and her trembling body, and at last she reached her peak. She cried out, and pulled at his hair, and Jacques could hardly breathe. His heart was beating so fast and he had never been more aroused in his life.

When he finally rose up, they were both trembling, and without a word Marie unfastened his trousers. He watched her face, serious with concentration, and thought about what it would be like if she were to take him in her mouth, within her pink lips, but decided against it. Not tonight, not her first time, they had many nights to explore that. Besides, there was no chance he would last twenty seconds if she did that; it was too much to even think about.

At last they were both naked, and Marie looked at him without fear. She smiled and was surprised to find him beautiful. She touched him, and felt how hot he was under her palm. It was such a foreign feeling, holding him, and she wondered what it would be like to go through life with something like that between her legs. Her touch became too much for him, and he gently pulled her hand away and she wrapped her arms around him. She looked at him questioningly, expecting him to tell her what was coming next.

"This may hurt," he warned her softly, brushing her dark hair with his fingers. "I'm going to be as gentle as I can, love."

"I trust you."

"I'll go slowly. Please tell me if it hurts."

She remembered how her mama had told her that it got better after the first time, and she needn't worry. She'd been mortified to discuss this with her mother, but she had been clear and helpful: "Your husband loves you, and so he won't want you to be unhappy. Talk to him about those private matters and don't be too shy. He's your partner, Marie." She knew she'd be able to do that with Jacques.

"I'll tell you, I promise," she said, and kissed him again. He entered her very slowly, and she felt him tremble. "I love you."

His voice was hoarse. "I love you."

It didn't last very long, and yes it hurt. She opened her legs wider to allow him more space, but there was only so much she could do. He pushed past parts of her that tried to block him out, and she felt a pinch and a pull. She whimpered a bit, and heard him whisper apologetic words, but knew she would just have to suffer it. A few moments in, and the pain began to subside. He moved with her, and she felt how their breathing synced together, and her entire heart was beating in awareness and desire for him. She'd never experienced the presence of another human being so acutely, and finally understood what people meant when they said a woman "gave herself" to a man. But she also felt that she'd received something from him, especially when he would look down at her with such unmasked love and pleasure, and she felt she was seeing into the most unguarded piece of him. The Jacques only she knew, distilled into a gaze. He was hers.

Afterwards, their limbs were entwined under the sheets and she lay in contentment. His lips moved across her hair, and her forehead and neck, until he fell asleep with his arm laying heavy on her waist. For a few minutes she watched him sleep. His long lashes lay on his skin, and she thought of how strange it was to see him so still and quiet. Her husband was so active and alive and vital, and here he was, vulnerable and latent. She smiled, and touched his cheek as lightly as she could with her fingertips. Her mind traced over everything they had been through. She even touched on the idea that she could have easily married someone else, and knew that she would not be lying naked and unashamed with way if she had. Before long, though, she gave in to the demands of her body and fell asleep.

* * *

**Reviews please! **


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